


Only Love Remains

by wordsphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (angst about the future the angst is NOW), ALL OF EIGHTH YEAR I was like screw it book eight, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Future Angst, HARRY AND DRACO ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE SHARING A ROOM BECAUSE MCGONAGALL'S WORRIED ABOUT THEM, Hagrid's in like half a scene, History loving Harry, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Owelry, I didn't tag him but he pops in every now and again, M/M, Pansy's great Serena's a bit of an asshole and Blaise is overdramatic?, Quidditch loving Draco, Thank you so much for reading if you do or just making it through all these tags love you, alternates by chapter, because their friends are exhausting, bit of GP bit of the Manor bit of Narcissa, pov switching, re-tagged-relationship-instigating Draco, re-tagged-tentative Harry, secret relationship until they decide to lay off the slow burn, supportive hermione, swearing and sex mentions thus the rating, unexpectedly together Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Draco Malfoy’s confidence has taken a hit after the war. He’s been saved somewhat in public by the support of Harry’s die-hard fans, but it doesn’t feel like many people are willing to do more than tolerate him. Getting through eighth year has become Draco’s immediate goal. After that… well, ideally he’d figure it out soon.Harry Potter is finding it hard to adjust to another year at Hogwarts. Mostly he takes tranquility where he can find it, and assures Ron and Hermione (who both seem perpetually worried about him) that his blunted attitude is just a result of his desire to be left alone. He doesn't want to be an Auror anymore, but he knows he'll figure something out.Everything seems to be normal- or what passes for normal at Hogwarts- but, really, neither Draco nor Harry can shake the feeling that nothing is normal at all. Maybe because McGonagall's roomed them right next to each other.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lyric from Lykke Li's "I Never Learn" which I feel relates heavily to the lives of the two wonderful idiots I have adopted.

            Harry glanced out the window of the carriage, and more emotions than he could count tumbled over themselves in his mind.

            The castle stood, beautiful and familiar and grand as always, but there was a shadow over it that not even a summer of the sincerest volunteer efforts could shake. It had been repaired almost to perfection. But something about those dark patches where the curse marks hadn’t quite come off, or the chips in the stone visible even at that distance, or the Forest sitting dark and wild next to it, with the flash of a chill Harry couldn’t shake when he looked-

            They bumped over a rock, and Harry redirected his attention to the thestrals ahead of them. He couldn’t see the ones pulling their carriage, but the ones ahead were visible. How many people could see them this year? All the seventh and eighth years, some of the sixth. And the younger students. Dennis Creevy’s face popped up in Harry’s mind.

Recently he’d got accustomed to laughing bitterly when he thought of something that just _shouldn’t_ be the way it was after the war, but his friends didn’t appreciate it. Hermione and Ron and Luna had already had to deal with his ‘unexpected’ calm on getting off the train; no need to prove they’d actually been right about him losing it.

            Actually, Hermione was looking at him uneasily, then. “Alright, Hermione?”

            “It’s strange to be back.” She redirected her eyes to the window before she said it.

            Which was good. Because Harry didn’t want to get into a real discussion about anything just yet, either. “Yeah.”

            “The castle will be full up. Any idea where they’re putting us?” Ron asked. Their letters that year hadn’t mentioned what was being done to accommodate the extra students, but Harry wasn’t worried. Professor McGonagall was a more than competent headmistress. And there weren’t that many extra students. Some of the people who’d come back for Harry’s sixth year probably wouldn’t be there for their eighth, even if a few students who’d left because of Voldemort had reconsidered doing NEWTs.

            “Probably extension charms,” Hermione said softly, almost to herself.

            “I’m sure Professor McGonagall won’t have anyone camped out on the floors of our common rooms,” Luna agreed. She’d been saying things scarily close to Harry’s thoughts the whole train ride. It wouldn’t be the first time they were on the same wavelength. Sometimes Luna was just like that.

            Hermione turned to Luna. “Have you seen Ginny?”

            “Not since the train. I think it was something about Quidditch.”

            “Gin’s got loads of friends. I’m sure we’ll see her at the feast. Why’d you want to see her, ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

            “Nothing, really. Just lent her a book over the holiday. She said she’d bring it when we came back.”

            Mentioning their return to Hogwarts (even though they were in a carriage on their way up to the castle at that moment) seemed to snap all of them to their own thoughts again. Harry sighed and went back to looking out the window.

 

            The Welcoming Feast had been exceptionally festive. Harry appreciated getting to feel that again, even if he felt miles away from the other students and nowhere near prepared to sleep afterwards.

            Evidently, he wasn’t the only one. “Party in the Ravenclaw common room,” Ron said, coming into the portrait hole a few minutes late.

            “Ravenclaw? Before the first day of classes?” Harry asked.

            Ron shrugged. “Weird year.”

            It was a weird year. McGonagall had used extension charms and put them in with the seventh years, but she had also said she would understand if the eighth years wanted different living arrangements and promised to contact them later. “What do you think McGonagall meant about the rooms?”

            Ron shrugged. “Dunno. Wouldn’t feel right living alone at Hogwarts, though. Maybe we could room together?”

            “Maybe. I guess we’ll see when she gets in touch.” For everything else he was trying to process, Harry hadn’t spared a thought to consider where he’d sleep. Which was probably bad, since it may or may not subject his classmates to his regular nightmares.

            “Oh, about the rooms?” Hermione appeared in the doorway to the girls’ dormitories. “I don’t think I’d mind living alone, though I’d need to spend plenty of time here anyway to keep you all serious about your studies.”

            Ron looked affronted. “Do you think I would have come back if I weren’t serious?”

            Hermione sighed instead of answering. That being an answer in itself.

            “I think I will go to the party. Don’t really feel like sleeping.”

            “Brilliant. Leave in five?”

            “Yeah.” Harry went upstairs, thinking he would rather stumble into his room in the early hours of the morning (possibly a little drunk) wearing muggle clothes than wizarding ones.

            He stopped in the doorway.

            There were six beds. His trunk sat at the foot of one, technically where it was supposed to be save for the expansion charm. No one else was in the room. Neville’s trunk was open, a stack of Herbology books already piled on his nightstand.

            It was too much.

            Harry pulled off his robes, threw them on his bed, and left.

            He nearly collided with Ron on the stairs. Good. “I wanted to check something before… Go ahead of me, okay? I’ll see you there.”

            Ron looked perplexed, but didn’t question him.

            Harry didn’t know where he wanted to go. He just needed to be… away.

            Not outside. Not the Room. The Owelry was an option. It wouldn’t be the same without Hedwig. Could he go there and talk to her, anyway? Maybe. It’d make him feel a little crazier, but, really, what did that matter if it helped him feel better the rest of the time?

            Once he’d made it out of the main part of the castle, the sounds of students returning to their common rooms died away. Harry felt his breathing slow in response. He hadn’t exactly liked crowds lately. Some combination of living alone at Grimmauld Place and still recovering from being on edge all the time. Three months hadn’t quite been enough to dispel the jumpiness.

            Well. Occasionally Harry wondered whether three years would be enough, but he thought he’d figure that out when he got there, if it hadn’t gotten better by then.

            He was doing better. People were worried about him. But people were always worried about him. He doubted that would go away anytime soon, and, at least in the case of his friends and family, he didn’t really mind it. Much.

            Okay, so he minded it. But he had a feeling time was the only thing that would make that better. He’d stopped seeing the mind healer, so they probably assumed that was a good sign. Really Harry was just tired. He hadn’t wanted to relive things anymore. And he’d had seven years to work though all the Voldemort stuff while it was happening, so he wasn’t as poorly off as he might have been. He could’ve done with a few more nights’ decent sleep a week. If that meant risking addiction to Dreamless Sleep, though, he wasn’t willing to risk it.

            So here Harry was. Talking to owls.

            “I guess I shouldn’t have expected to find you here so late,” he said aloud, realizing that Hedwig would have left by then anyway. Most of the other owls had. Harry peered at a nearby tawny who opened her eyes for the shortest of seconds to see who was disturbing her.

            Harry leaned back on his heels. “Right. Well, I’ve come to talk to Hedwig, so I guess you lot will have to put up with me for a few minutes.

            “I don’t know why exactly I’m here except I couldn’t stand to be around that many people for another second. You’d think I would have jumped at the chance to spend five minutes alone in the dormitory, but that didn’t feel right, either. I don’t really think I can sleep there. I mean, it’s stupid, I’ve slept with four people every other year I’ve been here. But after this summer… I guess I just got used to the quiet.” The owls didn’t seem to mind, and Harry felt the anxiety of earlier starting to lessen, so he kept talking.

            “I don’t think I’d mind having you around, actually. Grimmauld Place gets a bit lonely. You’d be out all the time, anyway, though, I guess, so not much different from Ron and Hermione coming over for dinner every other day and refusing to accept that I’m fine on my own and don’t need either or both of them to move in.

            “I guess sometimes I think it might be nice to live with someone, except I’ve gotten used to the quiet. I don’t think I could give that up. I guess that’s why the room thing is so frustrating. Because nothing’s ever quiet sharing a room with four or five other people. I think that’s what McGonagall meant; I think she knew. Not that I wake up screaming or that possibly I’m not the only one, but that after spending a year away from Hogwarts and having to do all that shit with the horcruxes it might be weirder to pretend we really were just a few spare seventh years.

            “You know I don’t actually know why I’m here. Not here here, I’m talking to you, obviously, but here at Hogwarts. It feels wrong to be back, but I think it’d feel worse not to finish. I can’t have gone through all that just to duck out because the Ministry’s offered me a job.

            “Don’t even know if I want to work there anymore.”

            Before it had been set. He was good at defense and he had to do it anyway. But Harry didn’t have to do anything anymore. Except maybe finish Hogwarts, because he didn’t think it’d be right if he didn’t.

            Maybe that was enough of an answer.

            “Right. I reckon it's been about five minutes.” He was closer to Ravenclaw Tower than he was initially, but Ron would be wondering.

            Harry ambled through the corridors at the same speed he had on the way there. Despite the fact that it usually made people worry more, Harry was having a harder and harder time doing things because they were expected of him. Arrive when you say you will at the start of the year party. Show up at Hermione’s that fourth Wednesday for tea because you happened to have tea the three Wednesdays in a row before. Become an Auror. Live somewhere other than Grimmauld Place. Want to room with Ron just because you’d done it all the other times you’ve lived at Hogwarts and that should be reason enough not to want a change.

            Harry was also feeling more of that ‘now-or-never’ Gryffindor thing he’d sometimes forgotten about in between classes and surviving and winning the war. So, once he’d slipped into the ever-opening-and-closing portrait hole and spotted Ron chatting with Neville and a sixth year Ravenclaw he vaguely remembered, Harry headed straight for them. “Hey, Ron?”

            “Harry! I was wondering when you’d show. Did you, er, do that thing?”

            “Yep. Checked it. Listen, about that room thing…”

            “Yeah! Neville actually said he thought it was weird rooming with people in a different year- I mean, normally the dormitories do get a bit lonely during NEWTs anyway, would have if Dean and Seamus had left earlier- and I was thinking maybe we could go see McGonagall and ask for an eighth year room.”

            “Not that I mind rooming with the seventh years, it’s just...” Neville shrugged.

            That pulled Harry up short for a second. Wanting quiet was one thing, but he wasn’t convinced McGonagall would be any less worried about his being alone than his friends usually were. Maybe it would be alright if it was just Neville and Ron.

            Then again, they weren’t accustomed to being woken up by a screaming or sleeplessly-pacing roommate. “I think I’m going to see if she’ll put me alone.” He didn’t want to get into it more than that. And they knew. Why he didn’t want to sleep in the same room as anyone else anymore.

            Ron looked a little disappointed anyway. “Alright. Well, there’s always us, if she says no.”

            Harry wondered if the suggestion was meant to be comforting only or if Ron thought McGonagall would possess enough of his and Hermione’s same concerns to refuse to allow Harry his own room. He supposed it was nice to know he cared that much either way. “Thanks.”

            Based on his expression, Ron got that he meant it. Good. Harry was feeling considerably more relaxed after talking to Hedwig, whatever that meant for his sanity. He settled into the party and chatted idly with Neville for a while before he got sucked into a Potions-related plant debate and Hermione appeared with two butterbeers. She handed one to Harry.

            “There’s butterbeer?” asked Ron.

            “Wouldn’t be a proper common room party if there wasn’t. I thought you’d already have one, sorry. And don’t ask if there’s alcohol, I’ve already checked-” at which point Harry and Ron stared at her in confused amazement “-not that I’m a Prefect anymore, or because I wanted to get pissed the night before classes start, but because I knew you’d ask.” Another quirk of being an eighth year; Hermione and Ron had gladly relinquished their Prefect duties to avoid throwing off the equilibrium of the office.

            Ron cocked his head with a little appreciative smile and said, “Well, it _is_ Ravenclaw,” as if that explained things to his satisfaction. His eyes caught something else and he straightened up for a second, seemed to remember something, and went back to slouching. “Surprised to see Malfoy here.”

            Harry resisted the urge to whip his head around and instead turned at an acceptable speed in the direction Ron had been looking.

            There he was, looking sharp and nonchalant as ever, lounging against a window as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Granted, McGonagall had done a bang-up job with her House Unity Initiative, but that didn’t make it any less jarring to see Malfoy in the Ravenclaw common room. And relaxing. Usually he was materializing around corners, walking too fast with his shoulders looking so tight it must have hurt. And Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Malfoy loosen his tie, let alone socialize in what had once been hostile territory.

            Well. Probably still was, a little, since he and the group of younger students next to him looked like they were studiously ignoring each other.

Harry was seized with a sudden need to apologize. “I’ll be right back.”

            Ron tittered, and Hermione offered a supportive smile.

            Harry marched off to the corner of the common room where Draco was sitting. Startled, the few people nearby him stood, one muttering something about summer Astronomy reading. They left, and Harry took a seat in the chair opposite Draco’s window ledge.

            “Potter,” Draco said. He tipped his bottle of butterbeer, eyebrows raised, in Harry’s direction, and took a sip.

            “Not you, too,” Harry muttered. He took a swig of his own butterbeer and glanced off into the crowd.

            “What?”

            “Drinking to my name, all that rubbish. I’d’ve expected you at least would have kept up a healthy disgust for me after the war, or… something along those lines.” He finished with a smile and a beat of silent eye contact. Yeah. This was fine.

            He and Draco burst into simultaneous laughter, both trying not to choke on their drinks. They quieted at roughly the same moment, having noticed the considerable attention the outburst had drawn.

            People went back to their drinks, and Harry relaxed again. “I actually did want to talk to you.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah.” Harry took a deep breath and met Draco’s questioning gaze. “Look, I’ve been thinking, and I didn’t exactly apologize for everything I did before- before the war, and I wanted to let you know,” another breath, “I’m sorry.”

            For one agonizing moment, Malfoy was silent. Then he shook his head. “You apologized for all that.” He took another sip of his drink, like he was expecting that to be that.

            Was he thinking of the same thing Harry was? Because he definitely hadn’t apologized well enough for that. “Not properly.” Harry hardly thought a few minutes of awkward mumbling during the post-trial return of Draco’s wand counted as an apology.

            “Well, now you have.” Malfoy’s tone implied an end to the conversation.

            “Great. Thanks, then,” Harry said, suddenly uncertain. He spent a second wanting to kick himself for saying something stupid, then another wondering exactly what he was supposed to do after that.

            “You can go back to your friends. I’m having a perfectly serviceable time sipping butterbeer in a corner alone, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

            Harry opened his mouth to say something. Maybe that Malfoy shouldn’t be camped out in a corner alone. That that wasn’t the point of house unity. But the way he was sitting, staring off into the middle distance and ignoring Harry, stated that he clearly didn’t want a conversation.

            Harry realized he’d never exchanged two words with Malfoy that didn’t fall into the categories of ‘awkward apology’ or ‘insult.’

            After a second more of silence, he gave it up. Harry tried to keep his expression blank as he walked back over to Ron, who was now talking to two third years. Hermione was nowhere to be found.

            “What was that about?” Ron asked under his breath as the third years continued their discussion. Both looked curious, but seemed to be feigning inability to hear.

            “Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” muttered Harry. He took a dejected swig of butterbeer. He hadn’t exactly been expecting anything when he’d gone over to talk to Malfoy. Still, he hadn’t thought Malfoy would dismiss him so easily. Get angry, maybe, or scoff at the idea that Harry would want or expect forgiveness. Definitely not shrug it off as if nothing had happened. And then ignore him.

            But then, maybe Harry shouldn’t have been surprised by that. It was, after all, startlingly similar to his own attitude towards some of the things associated with the war. And, he thought, half-bitterly, half-amusedly, what was more associated with the war than the Chosen One himself?

            The third years seemed to be talking about something interesting. Harry tried to remember their names as the conversation went on. He was usually better at remembering names.


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco makes a decision.

            Draco slept about as well as he ever did, which left a lot to be desired, but it would have to do. He had it on good authority that the second-year NEWT Potions class started in an hour, and he wasn’t about to get on the new professor’s bad side on the first day.

            He’d read about her once, probably in one of the magazines Snape had always had sitting around his office. Professor Honeycutt. If what Draco vaguely recalled from the article was true, she was the type to give Snape a run for his money.

            Draco wondered whether portraits were allowed to sit in on classes as he slipped quietly into the bathroom. Possibly McGonagall wouldn’t mind it, but Snape had never had paintings in his classroom- whether because they were distracting or because the damage caused by overzealous flame adjustment spells would have been more trouble than it was worth.

            By the time Draco was dressed, the rest of his roommates had dragged themselves out of bed. McGonagall’s House Unity Initiative had heavily encouraged Slytherins to return for their NEWT years. As a result, Draco was sharing a room with Blaise, Theo, and two seventh years who had yet to introduce themselves. He probably should have remembered their names, but Draco hadn’t had much room in his mind for unnecessary information as of late.

            Well. It would be necessary to know them if he was sharing a room with them. Draco made a mental note to attempt to strike up a conversation later as he wound his way out of the common room. Perhaps they’d be more amiable than the Ravenclaws.

            Draco realized that was maybe an unfair assessment and then bristled at the idea that he was defending people who thought they weren’t good enough to talk to a former Death Eater. Ironic, given he’d spent most of his time at Hogwarts under the impression he was better than everybody else. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that anymore, at least insofar as general intelligence was concerned; rather, Draco had recently had his long-held suspicions about blood status being meaningless vindicated. By a war. In which he’d been on the wrong side.

            House Unity Initiative or not, Draco didn’t have much hope of convincing people he wasn’t completely irredeemable. Apart from Blaise and Theo and Pansy, of course, but they had the advantage of actually having gotten to know him beyond the admittedly difficult but not impossible to overlook pureblood Death Eater thing.

            What had McGonagall meant about different housing arrangements? Was she willing to let the eighth years have rooms of their own?

            Seeing as how Draco had just entered the Great Hall, he decided that was as good a time as any to ask about it.

            “Mr. Malfoy.” Neither the headmistress nor the nearest professors looked surprised to see Draco there.

            “Headmistress. Yesterday you mentioned alternative housing for eighth years?”

            “I did. Are you interested in pursuing such an arrangement?”

            “Yes.”

            McGonagall nodded. “I supposed at least some of the eighth years might. I will call you to my office as soon as I can to discuss things further. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee it will get sorted out today, given there’s bound to be some chaos on the first day back.” There was a knowing glint in her eye. Draco knew, if not so well as she, that Hogwarts tended to be unpredictable, prepared headmistresses or not.

            “Of course. Thank you.” Draco gave a little bow, as befit his archaic social education, and went to find a seat at the Slytherin table.

            Pansy and Theo were comparing schedules. Draco was surprised to find his appear on his empty plate as he sat.

            “She’s passed the schedule distribution on to Flitwick for all houses this year,” Pansy explained. “A bit more flair in it this way.”

            Draco declined to comment on the fact that there was a trade-off between flair and not having your head of house in front of you to ask questions or fix mistakes right away. “Does the Great Hall feel crowded this morning?”

            “Three reasons,” Blaise said, strolling up to the table and taking the seat beside Draco. “Returning students of all years who stayed home during the war, us eighth years are here pushing fire capacity, and most of the classes under ours are bigger while the ones above are smaller.”

            “What do you mean by ‘fire capacity?’”

            “Muggle Studies, Pans. You should’ve stayed in.”

            “Please. For NEWTs?”

            “Wait a second.” Draco turned to Blaise. “Why did they put us with seventh years at all, then? I mean, logically, if there are more seventh years, and they have more rooms, shouldn’t we be sleeping somewhere else?”

            Blaise snorted. “You expect any of the eighth years are going to ignore what McGonagall said yesterday? She’ll probably have us moved into a spare tower by the end of the week.”

            “House Unity?” Pansy suggested.

            “No way.” Serena, the seventh year Ravenclaw Pansy had been dating for approximately two months, slid into the seat opposite Blaise. “House Unity is being enacted as we speak, fair Slytherins. Look around.”

            With a sigh and an eye-roll, Draco looked. He had to stifle a gasp. The House tables were still discernable, but barely. At least half of each was occupied by students with the wrong color ties. “How did she do it?”

            Serena shrugged. “Inspire the Hufflepuff in all of us? As for what you said about a separate eighth year tower, Blaise, if you saw how many Ravenclaws- eighth years, most of them- were in the common room reading this morning, you’d realize that some people might not take too kindly to that plan.”

            Blaise shook his head. “They’d have each other. There were originally what, eighty Ravenclaws in our year?”

            “A bit of an exaggeration, darling,” Pansy said. “I think it was closer to seventy.”

            “Well, either way,” Serena said. “Only about a fourth of Hogwarts students stay on after OWLs, and plenty of those are Ravenclaws.”

            “Makes sense,” said Theo. “There’s us three and four girls. Not too low an amount, considering the war.”

            “I’m disappointed in our classmates’ lack of initiative, anyway,” Draco said, and picked up his schedule to make room for toast.

                        MONDAY Potions, Potions, Lunch, Transfiguration

                        TUESDAY Runes, Lunch, Astronomy

                        WEDNESDAY Charms, Charms, Lunch, Potions, Astronomy*

                        THURSDAY Runes, Runes, Lunch, Transfiguration, Transfiguration

                        FRIDAY Lunch, Charms, Astronomy*

All in all, not a bad schedule. The Wednesday and Friday Astronomy classes were held at night, so Draco would finish class early most afternoons. He wasn’t especially looking forward to double Runes and double Transfiguration in one day (and that after being up late the night before), but he’d have loads of time to do homework on Tuesdays and Fridays.

            Serena had got hold of Pansy’s and Theo’s schedules and was tsking at them both. “Why does everyone take Charms?”

            “Charms are fantastic,” Blaise said.

            “Name one reason.”

            “I can give you five off the top of my head!”

            Draco got comfortable and started on his coffee, watching Blaise and Serena get more and more impassioned as breakfast wore on. Finally, after all the first years and a few other obscenely early people had cleared the hall, Draco stood to leave. Pansy and Theo followed, both likely enjoying the chance to exit the conversation as much as Draco. Blaise had been getting rather whingy.

            They arrived at the Potions classroom with a good ten minutes to spare. The Golden Trio, much to Draco’s surprise, was already seated and arguing (though that wasn’t surprising). He took in the faces of a few eighth year Ravenclaws, a single eighth year Hufflepuff, and a decent number of seventh years. It was going to be a full class, at least for NEWTs.

            Professor Honeycutt did not make her entrance until exactly nine o’clock, by which point all the students had entered. They fell silent immediately, not knowing what to expect. She looked much younger than Draco would have thought. Then again, thirty was plenty old enough for a skilled wizard to have become a well-respected Potions Master.

            “Hello and welcome back. I am Professor Abigail Honeycutt, and I will be filling this post for as long as Headmistress McGonagall will have me. As you’re all NEWT students, I am under the impression you take this class seriously and want to succeed. I would like to see you all succeed. That said, I am very good at what I do. This is a difficult course and as such it will be difficult to meet my expectations. I have listed hours of availability on my office door.

            “Does anyone need to borrow a book?”

            A murmur in the negative ran around the room.

            “Good. Please turn to page 56 in your books and brew me a Wit-Sharpening Potion. You will have both hours to complete this task, after which I expect to find eighteen sealed samples waiting on my desk. I will be coming around and getting acquainted with you over the course of the class.” She sat. A low muttering broke out as the class began to prepare to brew.

            Her introduction, Draco thought, had gone a bit against the grain for someone who carried herself so easily. As he began lining up ingredients, he noticed Honeycutt leaning back in her chair. If any of the students had looked so relaxed during class in past years, Snape would’ve swept up behind them in the hopes of startling some vigilance into them.

            The choice of potion wasn’t too surprising. Plenty of teachers liked to test students’ abilities before getting in a word of theory, and Draco was confident in his ability to brew a quality Wit-Sharpening Potion. By the time the double period was over, Draco was corking his sample vial with a small smile on his face. He glanced around to see that his friends had done well enough, as had Granger. Potter’s potion was definitely a little off, and Weasley was-

            “Brewing through lunch?” Granger sounded skeptical.

            “Professor Honeycutt said she had no problem as long as I didn’t blow up the classroom.”

            Interesting. Draco had noticed Weasley discarding his first attempt at the potion, but he hadn’t realized Honeycutt would allow him to start brewing over without sufficient class time.

            He’d have to consider the implications later, though, because Pansy flung an arm around him and started dragging him towards lunch.

            Professor McGonagall was still teaching Transfiguration. She seemed impervious to distraction, and after three people went up to ask about room assignments she told the class that she preferred to keep her headmistress duties separate from her instructive ones. She made eye contact briefly with Draco as she said it, which was reassuring.

            After class, Draco decided to go flying. No one would be out before classes were over, and the day was pleasant and breezy. Draco retrieved his broom from the dungeons and headed out. There was a Care of Magical Creatures class going on near the edge of the Forest, but the Quidditch pitch was deserted at that time of the afternoon.

            He’d flown a few times over the summer, but there was a distinctive feeling, a crackling excitement in the pit of his stomach at the thought of being in the air with the stands rising below him. It was the perfect day for it, he thought. The sun was out, not hot, not yet too low in the sky, and the light wind picked up his hair and blew it out of his eyes. Draco felt unaccountably free, being out of class so early and having to answer to no one.

            He mounted and kicked off, and _fuck_ it felt good to be in the air again. It was different from home, different and exhilarating and life-affirming. He felt like each breath sucked in a bit more of the ever-flowing air and sunlight around him, like it reminded him he was free again and doing okay actually and alive.

            Draco laughed and leaned into the wind, letting it direct his looping, dizzying, just-fast-enough-to-make-him-almost-lose-his-balance flight around the pitch. The landscape stretched, glorious and expansive around him and visible far enough to rival the endlessness of the blue above. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Longer, he told himself, and then, who cares, because he was flying.

            After some immeasurable quantity of this best of medicines, Draco glanced down to find someone stretched out on the ground at the edge of the pitch. He recognized him instantly: Potter. He was throwing something up into the air and catching it absentmindedly, not even sparing Draco a glance if his judgment was sound from so high in the air. Draco headed back down, landing a good distance away from him, and started walking towards him.

            When it became clear Potter was not bothered by his presence, Draco said, “Gryffindor practice starts at four.”

            “Shit, really?” He kept throwing the thing, a broken Snitch, Draco saw, and only pulled his eyes away to look at Draco for a second.

            “Yes.” Draco stood there staring at him.

            “Must’ve missed the memo. What with my not being on the team and all.”

            More staring. Because Potter not playing Quidditch was very high on his list of things that were only probable in the event that hell froze over.

            Harry was apparently surprised that he didn’t say anything, because he glanced at Draco again and said, “Don’t look so surprised. Most of the eighth years have dropped out of activities completely. It’s not fair to the seventh years, and we’re already behind enough as it is.” He caught the Snitch and held it. The staring went both ways this time, until Potter broke the silence. “I could use a hand. I’m not exactly in top condition anymore, in case you hadn’t gathered.”

            He hadn’t, because Potter looked as fit as ever and Draco was still working through the idea that he would ever not play Quidditch. With a wordless noise of disbelief, Draco took a step forward and extended his arm. Potter grasped it at the elbow and leveraged himself to his feet.

            “Thanks,” Potter said, immediately dropping his arm.

            “Least I could do for the Chosen One.”

            “Fuck off,” Potter said, but his voice was absolutely devoid of malice, and he followed Draco back to the castle in an almost… amiable way.

            Of course, when they parted ways in the Great Hall for their respective common rooms, Potter’s friendly goodbye was accompanied by an insult (“See you around, wanker”), but it lacked bite.

            There were just as many reasons for him to insult Draco as there were for him not to mean it. On one hand, Potter was nice. Not to Draco ever before. Still, underneath the new unapproachable façade, he was still that infuriatingly noble Gryffindor that everyone knew and loved. But back to Potter never being nice to Draco. There was precedent for that. Draco had never been nice to Potter.

            But Potter had pulled him from the Fiendfyre in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts. After hating him for seven years.

            Well. Maybe Potter hadn’t really hated him.

            That would explain why he’d left Draco to fly on his own just now. Wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t left then and there, or why he had seemed to expect something from Draco after apologizing the night before, but it did well enough for the lack of death glares from Potter’s direction in the short time they’d been back at Hogwarts. The few times he and Potter had made eye contact, he hadn’t felt anything. Maybe a little sadness, or guilt or disappointment or something else very gallant and chivalrous coming from Potter about everything that had passed between them. Maybe bitterness or wistfulness or- dare he add disappointment to his own list?- on Draco’s part about how everything had turned out. About not having thanked him properly, for the wand or the Fiendfyre, after the trial, because he sometimes wondered whether anything more than the proper calling-in of the life debt would make that feel repaid.

            Draco certainly didn’t hate Potter. He was guessing from the bizarre moment of camaraderie on the Quidditch pitch that Potter knew that, though how he felt about it was entirely a mystery. They had only been back two days, after all. One, if you were counting by hours.  Definitely not long enough to gauge Potter’s feelings towards him beyond some combination of the expected dredging-up-the-past bullshit and his new apparent indifference.

            “Mr. Malfoy.” Draco started a little as Professor McGonagall’s voice reached him. He had traded his broom for his bag and was on his way to find a quiet corner of the library. Hadn’t made it too far, actually; Draco was barely out of the dungeons.

            He shook off the shock at having been headed off by McGonagall herself and felt a tentative smile form on his face. “Headmistress?”

            “I have a free moment, if you’d like to discuss your dormitory arrangements.”

            He hadn’t expected her to be able to deal with it until at least Thursday. When had Draco gotten so lucky? “Oh?”

            “Yes. Though I’m afraid we’ll have to forego the formality of going to my office. It’s rather far, and I find myself in particularly high demand today. Will the Great Hall suffice?”

            “Of course.” Draco followed her in. The Hall was sparsely populated, students scattered at the tables talking or studying with the advantage of the snacks that the house elves sent up on the intuition of their being needed.

            McGonagall headed straight to the end of the Hufflepuff table, the one nearest them, and sat. A few people glanced up curiously, but no one seemed to care enough to pay them proper attention.

            Draco sat and linked his hands on the table in front of him.

            “Excellent.” McGonagall got out her wand and swirled it once. Draco felt a muffling charm settle around them. “Now, I understand you would prefer living somewhere other than the joint seventh and eighth year dormitory?”

            “Yes.”

            “What type of situation would you prefer?” That was an unexpected question. Kind though she was, Draco’d never understood McGonagall as particularly open to suggestion, not because she was close-minded, but because she seemed to have things worked out satisfactorily long before anyone thought to question them.

            “Oh.” Draco didn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up, if those were what she was looking for. “I just found it… uncomfortable, living with people I didn’t know after being in a room with Blaise and Theo for so long.”

            “Am I to understand that you would prefer the eighth years to have a separate dormitory?” That was markedly better, but Draco couldn’t help but recall staring up at his canopy in the early hours of that morning and wishing for solitude. When he made eye contact with McGonagall again, he found her conveying a remarkable sense of patience and a hint of the kindness he knew she possessed.

            “I think I’d prefer to room alone, actually.”

            She sighed a little, as if she had been expecting this and didn’t feel especially pleased about it. “You understand why that might be… inadvisable, given current circumstances?” She could have meant any number of things- he might be targeted if alone, it might draw more suspicion on him generally, it was unwise to place anyone alone in uncharted portions of the castle when their mental state might not be especially sound- but she hadn’t said no.

            Draco stood his ground. “Yes.”

            “And you are prepared to accept conditions to the privilege of individual housing, in order to prevent any undesirable complications from arising?”

            “Yes.”

            McGonagall sighed again. “I have yet to discuss this with any of the other students, but I understand that some of them might also wish to room alone. That said, I cannot place students completely by themselves with no regard to how this might impact their safety.” She paused for so long that Draco had about accepted he was doomed to a roommate, then continued, “I am prepared to place you in the guest quarters, alone, but in a suite with another student. You would have separate rooms adjoined by a sitting room. This would both alert you of each other’s comings and goings and discourage ill-intention towards you. Would you be interested in this arrangement?”

            Draco had to bite back a smile. “Yes.”

            “Even if the student with whom you were rooming happened to be Harry Potter?”

            Draco froze. For a second he couldn’t even think straight, his mind caught between shock, irony, and horror. Of course it would be Potter. But then he forced his brain to unstick, and he realized that _of course_ it would be Potter. If McGonagall were worried about students keeping an eye on each other, she could damn well rest assured knowing their shared history would keep them interested enough to know what the other was up to. Draco had never been nearly so obsessive about it, but he knew McGonagall trusted him. She was asking him first. That implied she trusted him to come to her, having agreed on conditions in advance, if something was up with Potter. And, in light of recent events, Draco felt pretty safe in the knowledge Potter had no desire to harm him. As far as he knew, Potter didn’t often save peoples’ lives when he wanted them dead, and, really, what more could he ask for in a prospective roommate?

            So Draco said yes. Because Potter didn’t hate him.


	3. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes some plans.

            Why did he always fucking run into people at the fucking Owelry?

            “Oh.” It was Malfoy. Of course Malfoy was sending an owl. He nodded cordially to Harry before returning to his task. “Potter.”

            “Malfoy.” Harry espied a bit of wall that wasn’t covered in bird shit and leaned against it. His anger was a bit deflated at the sight of Malfoy. Funny. A year ago it would’ve been the opposite. Now Harry just wanted all of that to be behind him, or behind them, as it were, and being angry with Malfoy wasn’t going to accomplish that.

            He wasn’t angry at Malfoy, anyway. It was Hermione who’d come to him and asked if he was still planning on being an Auror. He wasn’t, but he also didn’t know what he wanted to do, and outing his lack of plans in front of Ron, who he shared all his classes with, was not the most pleasant way for him to admit his change of heart to his friends. His only other option had been to lie, and that wasn’t something Harry was particularly fond of doing. Still, he had wanted to work out some of his future plans before telling his friends. That way, they’d be less disappointed when they did find out, and they wouldn’t be bothering him about it in the meantime. He had thought it would be easier to decide without the constant pressure of his friends’ opinions. Thanks to Hermione, he didn’t have that choice anymore.

            “Sending an owl?” Malfoy asked casually, and Harry had to resist the urge to laugh; he’d forgotten he was there.

            “No.” When Malfoy stared askance at him, he said, “I come here to think.” That last part slipped out before Harry had a chance to consider it. But then, he reflected, what did it matter? It wasn’t like Malfoy could do much damage with the information, and Harry didn’t get the sense he wanted to, anyway.

            “I’ll leave you to it, then.” In the doorway, Malfoy hesitated. “Good luck,” he said without turning around, and left before Harry could reply.

            Not that he knew what he would’ve said to that.

            When he could be certain Malfoy was out of earshot, Harry glanced up at the owls. It was early. Breakfast was probably just starting, and a good half of the Owelry’s occupants still hadn’t made it back from their nightly hunts.

            “I didn’t expect to be back here so soon, but Hermione’s reminded me I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.

            “Last time I was here I was still pretending it was alright I didn’t know. Which is great, and I think it is alright, but that doesn’t make it any better I’m taking NEWTs with no clue how I’ll use them. Not that that’s… I just want to finish. I want to finish Hogwarts and use this year to do all the thinking about my future I didn’t do before because I didn’t think I had one.” He could feel the Forest. It felt close.

            “I still think the Ministry can bugger off. Ron and Hermione can take care of that reform-from-within rubbish. I’d rather stay out here advocating for house elf rights and feeding interviewers made up stories about my time at Hogwarts.

            “Not that I’d need to make things up. I’ve seen more here than I would have in a lifetime with the Dursleys. But thinking about that makes me freezing and it’s September, so we’d better talk about something else. I think house elf rights is a noble cause, don’t you? I could lobby the Wizengamot and have tea with the elves downstairs in my free time.” That didn’t sound so bad. It was infinitely better than becoming an Auror, even if it would necessitate further contact with the Ministry, and the stupid publicity would draw attention to an issue wizards had been ignoring for far too long.

            “Yeah. That’ll be my first go. I can do something about muggle curriculum- because, honestly, I don’t know how people get on in Arithmancy without knowing math first- and maybe by then I’ll have enough ground with the Ministry to try prison reform. Well? What do you say? Your advice is much less complicated than any Ron or Hermione’ll give me.” Which was true, but maybe- maybe he had someone else to talk to who’d have more to say back than the owls. “Right. I’ll see you lot later. Tell Hedwig I was here if she stops by, yeah?”

            One of the owls hooted. Harry grinned a bit at the acknowledgement and sprinted off towards the Great Hall, feeling a flicker of hope that felt perfectly right for the first days of a new Hogwarts year.

            “Luna,” he panted, flinging his things down at the Ravenclaw table, “I need your advice.”

            Harry glanced across the table to find Ginny, looking as if she’d stopped midsentence. Both she and Luna were gazing at Harry with significant amusement.

            Harry felt himself go slightly pink and carried on. “Right. Sorry. I can come back.”

            “No,” Ginny said with a smile. “This seems important. I’ll just go down to the other end of the table, shall I? Serena and I have been meaning to trade notes.”

            “What’s got you so excited, Harry?” Luna asked in her dreamy voice, and Harry felt, despite the pull of logic to the contrary, that he had come to exactly the right person.

            “I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Or- that is- I don’t want to be an Auror anymore, and I have an idea of what I might want to be instead, but I was hoping you’d be able to give me advice about it.”

            “Ah.” Harry couldn’t help but wonder at the slight note of uncertainty in Luna’s voice. Seeing his expression, she explained, “I was expecting it to be something romantic, though I suppose deciding what you want to do is romantic enough.”

            Harry had all sorts of questions about _that_ , but he decided to forego them in favor of answering one Luna would likely soon be asking. “I want to start a charity. Or an advocacy group. Or loads of them. I figure I need to start with one, and then once I gain some ground in the Ministry I’ll be able to do harder things.”

            Luna’s customary pleasantness brightened at his words. “What a wonderful idea! Is that what you needed advice about?”

            “Yes. I mean, I can’t really think of anything else that sounds like I’d want to do it, and I have loads of extra money to get it all started, and I figure my publicity could really do some good as opposed to just clogging up the papers with useless garbage all the time. I was wondering if you’d think it was a good idea, which I guess you’ve already answered- thank you, by the way. I think you understand me in a way other people don’t, because they’re always trying to help me when I don’t need it, and you just- let me- I can’t actually remember the last time I talked this long to a person without being interrupted,” Harry said with a laugh.

            “Would you like me to say something?”

            “What? Yes, go ahead.”

            “Alright. Well, as I said, I think it’s a wonderful idea. You might have to change some of your classes, though.”

            Harry hadn’t made it that far yet in his plans. He yanked his schedule out of his bag and showed it to her.

            “You’ll want History of Magic, if you’re going to change the wizarding world.”

            “I did terribly on the OWL,” Harry said, somewhat put-off. “I hardly think they’ll let me into NEWT classes.”

            “Muggle Studies might help, too.”

            That slowed Harry even further. “I’d have to drop DADA and Transfiguration.”

            Luna’s eyes sparkled with determination. “You’ll be fine without it, though! You probably know more about the muggle world than most of the people here. You technically live in muggle London, don’t you?”

            In a house that had more magic crackling around than the Burrow, but what did that matter? And none of that would get in the way of his incredibly secret back-up plan, entertained only in the moments when he could stand the thought of not going out into the world and doing something, so that was fine. “Do you reckon I could sit in on History of Magic classes?”

            “I’m sure Professor McGonagall would let you, if you told her why. And Professor Binns never seems to mind things like that.”

            “Right. I need to talk to her, anyway.” Harry glanced up at the staff table and was ecstatic to find the headmistress seated at its center. He had been meaning to go and see her at some point the day before, but every time he’d tried she had been either out of her office or tending some unexpected minor crisis. “Thank you, Luna.”

            “Anytime.”

            Harry hastened to the staff table (lingering just long enough to catch an expectant Ginny sliding back down to Luna at the edge of his vision) and grinned at the effect his expression had on Professor McGonagall.

            “Mr. Potter. Here to speak to me at last.”

            “Yes.”

            “I take it you’re here to ask about your housing arrangements?”

            “Sort of. I actually had something more important I needed to ask you.”

            “Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up.

            “I wanted to discuss my schedule.”

            A long-suffering look established itself firmly on the headmistress’s face. “I’m afraid this is a matter that cannot be dealt with in the middle of breakfast.”

            “Right.” Harry’s expression didn’t waver.

            “I suppose, if you could come to my office just after one o’clock, I could spare a few minutes for a proper discussion.”

            Harry felt himself beaming. “Great. Thank you, Headmistress.”

            He could feel the ‘this had better be good, Potter’ stare boring into his back as he walked away, but Harry couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

            Ron noticed. “Blimey. Another meeting with your mystery lover?”

            “What? Why does everyone think- no. I’ve just been to see McGonagall, and she’s agreed to let me change my schedule. Possibly.”

            “Why?” Hermione slung her bag off her shoulder and took the seat next to him. “Even if you aren’t going out for Aurors, you’re taking everything you could based on your OWLs, aren’t you?”

            “Well,” Harry said, and he kept going, because, really, what did it matter now if he said something to them? His frustration from that morning seemed almost laughable. “I’ll need to know more about History of Magic if I’m going to lobby the ministry for elfish welfare.”

            “Do my ears deceive me? Is Harry Potter taking up the great and noble gauntlet of SPEW?” Ron asked.

            “No. I just think the wizarding world could make a few improvements, and it’ll be easiest to start with something I actually understand already.”

            “The laws regarding house elves are pretty convoluted,” Hermione said, buttering a piece of toast contemplatively. “And didn’t you get a D on your History of Magic OWL?”

            “Yes,” Harry said, a bit impatient, “but that was during all that other stuff. There was a hostile takeover of the school by Ministry employees and my head kept splitting open trying to get me to do something about Voldemort.”

            “The Ministry didn’t have its priorities sorted out, did they?” Ron stared off into the distance for a second. “Still don’t, at least not as much as they should. I think it’s a great idea.”

            “You’ve never tried to work through six hundred years of wizarding law about house elves,” Hermione said darkly.

            “I won’t have to do that, anyway,” said Harry. “I’m Harry Potter, remember? If I say we ought to treat house elves more fairly and get the Prophet to print an article about it, I’ll have a dozen owls next day from people who actually know something about wizarding law and want to help me sort it.” He knew the bitterness in his voice (and the fact that they’d been caught in the media crossfire a few times more than either of them would have liked) was more than enough to convince them that, though he hated media attention, he was more than willing to put up with it if it led to something good for a change.

            “Harry’s got a point.” Ron sighed a little and set down his knife. “You know, you wouldn’t have to do anything if you didn’t want to. I bet if you announced you were tired loudly enough a pack of first years would show up asking if they could carry you to class.”

            Harry frowned. “Hopefully after a bit of tireless activism they’ll get the point and use all that energy to do something more useful than hero-worshipping me.”

            Hermione smirked. “You realize this’ll make them love you even more, right?”

            Harry shuddered.

            “If you don’t want to be seen as heroic, you really should stop doing heroic things,” Ron said wisely.

            “Since when is the right thing to do heroic?”

            “Since always, my sweet jaded darling,” Hermione said.

            “Hang on.” Ron’s voice suggested outrage. “He gets terms of endearment, and I’m ‘that ginger prat who won’t finish his homework soon enough’?”

            “You told me you’d be done at eleven! I can’t have a proper date with you start after eleven and be expected to get enough sleep for class.”

            “I was finished by eleven fifteen! And since when is more homework a date?”

            “It was a homework date, Ronald, and if you want me to spend a few nights a week sleeping in close proximity to unfamiliar seventh year boys the least you could do is respect my sleep schedule!”'

  
            “You can cast spells better than anyone in our year! You could probably spend a month in that room without having to deal with any of them!”

            “My privacy spells aren’t that good.”

            As the argument devolved into a comparison of the inconveniences of the seventh and eighth year boys’ dormitory against Hermione’s spellcasting ability, Harry reflected on his newfound sense of all being right with the world. Ron and Hermione were arguing about something stupid, Luna was as dazedly reliable as ever, and Harry was maybe going to have his own room, or at least a less-crowded one (a possibility he would suggest to Ron and Hermione as soon as either of them showed signs of letting up) by the end of the day.

            His hopes were rather confused by the meeting with Professor McGonagall that afternoon. Or not confused exactly. More… dependent on compromise.

            “Mr. Potter. Please, sit.” Professor McGonagall gestured to the chairs in front of her desk, and Harry sat. “As it seemed your schedule was of more pressing concern, might I suggest that we discuss that first?”

            “Right. I don’t want to be an Auror.”

            She looked unmoved. “I had guessed as much. Please continue.”

            It hadn’t occurred to Harry that his lack of conviction would be so obvious, but, then again, he hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic on his first day back, and it _was_ McGonagall. “Right. I think the best way to use all this press and two old pureblood inheritances would be to start a charity, or organization, or something, to help house elves. Or reform Azkaban. I’m not sure exactly how I want to do any of this yet, but I know I want to make things better, and I know I don’t want to do it from inside the Ministry.”

            “Am I to understand that this arises out of personal desire more than a feeling of obligation?”

            Harry smiled. He couldn’t have said what type of smile it was, except that he hoped it explained his motivations more effectively than his inelegant word choice did. “Yes. I’m doing this because it makes no sense for someone not to do it, and I’d just as soon have it be me. Because I’m not just doing it to look good, or keep being some type of savior. I see an opportunity to use my fame to do something good, and I know I’d be doing it for the right reasons.”

            “Might I ask what those reasons are?”

            Harry shrugged. “The world’s… excuse my language, Professor, but the world’s fucked up, and I’d like to change that. Or help people change it.”

            “Has it occurred to you,” Professor McGonagall said, the ghost of a smile alighting her features, “that defeating Voldemort has affected a great deal of change already? And that you might be entitled to a bit of rest, or time, even, to find a more fulfilling career than one as an Auror?”

            Harry drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t think our winning the war changed nearly as much as it should have, at least as far as I could tell at the beginning of the summer. And I think three months alone at Grimmauld Place is more than enough rest. I still can’t tell if that’s because I got so used to having something to do that the thought of not having a purpose is impossible to me, or because I know what it’s like sitting around doing nothing and I don’t think I’ll ever like it.”

            “If I had to guess, I’d say both. You weren’t ever idle in your past years at Hogwarts, even if you were preoccupied with things other than homework.”

            Harry smiled, and Professor McGonagall wore that look that suggested she expected nothing less of him.

            “On to your schedule, then,” Professor McGonagall said. “How were you hoping to modify it?”

            “I know I did horribly in my History of Magic OWL, but I was hoping the fact that I passed out during the exam might give me the chance to at least sit in on classes.”

            “You are aware that you’ve missed an entire year of NEWT-level instruction?”

            “Yes. But if I want to change the Ministry, or wizards’ perceptions of things, I’m going to need to understand more about how it all works.”

            “As your head of house I cannot advise you to take the NEWT exam, although, given the circumstances you just mentioned, I suppose the board of governors might be willing to grant an exception if Professor Binns allowed it, and if you could prove your competency in the subject. If you wanted only to sit in on the class, all you would need is Professor Binns’s approval.”

            “Alright. I’ll have to think about it.” Harry had a strong suspicion he was going to open an old history book, read three lines, and instantly lose interest, but he decided he’d better give it a go before passing up the opportunity to get credit for something he was planning on doing, anyway. “I was also thinking that I’d like to try Astronomy again if I could. I know it doesn’t have a thing to do with starting a charity, and I know I only got an A, but there was rather a lot going on down on the lawn during that exam.”

            “I believe you are referring to the mistaken arrest of Professor Hagrid?”

            “Right.”

            “Again, you would need to speak with Professor Sinistra and gain the approval of the board of governors. I think your chances are rather better given your OWL results. Although I must remind you that you’d effectively be a year behind in the subject, as with History of Magic. Were you intending to drop one of the subjects you are currently studying?”

            “Herbology. I don’t think it’ll contribute much to my current career goals.”

            “Nor do I. I advise you to continue attending class, though, in case you are unable to switch into other classes.”

            “Apart from speaking to the Professors, how would I do that?”

            “I believe a written justification for your course change and a recommendation by your head of house will be sufficient.”

            Harry smiled and did not comment on the unavoidable conflict of interest in having the headmistress as his head of house. “Thank you, Professor.”

            “I am more than happy to see one of my most promising students pursuing such an admirable change in direction. Now, about the housing arrangements…”

            Harry had almost forgotten about those. “Yes.”

            “What type of room situation did you have in mind?”

            “Er… I don’t suppose you’d put me alone, would you?”

            “Not exactly. But I do have a proposal for you.”


	4. Asking for the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are put into effect. Resignedly-sighing headmistress plans.

            When Potter approached the Slytherin table at breakfast on Wednesday, Draco knew it was either because McGonagall had told him or because he’d finally decided to explain why he was acting so strangely.

            It was the former.

            “Hey Malfoy.” He took a seat on the bench next to him.

            Draco didn’t bother to moderate his confusion (because even if he did know why Potter was there that didn’t make his decision to sit any less disconcerting) as he said, “Potter?”

            “McGonagall’s told me. You sure about this?”

            Draco stared at him. If Potter was sure, so was Draco. “Yes.”

            “Great. She said it’ll take a day or two to set it all up, so…” he shrugged.

            “Marvelous.”

            Potter stood. “Later, then.”

            Draco sighed in preparation for the looks he knew he’d be getting when he turned to his friends. As expected, they were mostly gaping.

            “Set what all up?” Blaise looked beside himself.

            Draco tried to keep his tone nonchalant. “McGonagall allowed me to beg out of the unfortunate room situation to move into the guest quarters, but I’ll have to share a sitting room with Potter.”

            Pansy exhaled in disappointment. “I presume you’ll have completely separate rooms?”

            “Was my explanation unclear?”

            “No. It’ll just be slightly harder to make jokes this way.”

            “It’ll be slightly harder to-”

            Serena’s loud voice from the doorway to the entrance hall cut him off. “Blaise!”

            “Fuck. Got to go.”

            “What’d you do to piss off my girlfriend, this time?” Pansy looked amused.

            “Nothing important. Later.” Blaise took the long way around the Ravenclaw table as Serena stormed up the opposite side.

            Serena looked furious, but she came and sat down, anyway. “He took my fucking Runes notes.”

            “How did he get them?” asked Draco.

            “I’d never say it to his face, but that git’s better than half our house at getting the riddles.”

            “But what about the-” Theo started.

            “I was in the common room. I ran up to the dormitory to get a book and when I came down they were gone.” She sighed and glanced around their stretch of table. “What’d I miss?”

            “Draco’s rooming with Potter,” Pansy said. For shock value.

            “We’re sharing a sitting room.” Draco wondered if he was going to have to do damage control with anyone else in the near future. Would Pansy owl his mother?

            Serena’s mood changed completely. “Are you serious?”

            “Yes.”

            “Aren’t you two in love?”

            “We spent our last two years at Hogwarts attempting to thwart each other’s primary reasons for existence.”

            Serena turned to Pansy. “They followed each other around and fought a lot, right?”

            “Basically. It was all very overdramatic.”

            Before Pansy could add any embellishments, Draco stood. “Much as I’d like to relive what I very sincerely hope will prove the worst years of my life, I have to get to Charms.”

            “Charms doesn’t start for twenty minutes,” Serena said. And then, for good measure, she added, “Fucking Charms.”

            “I’m feeling slow today. Goodbye.” Draco walked away.

            The Charms classroom was a good ten minute walk from the Great Hall, fifteen if you took the long way. He was absolutely taking the long way, because as soon as he’d cleared the entrance hall he was assaulted by thoughts he typically dismissed as irrelevant but which were quickly becoming the opposite.

            Potter wasn’t remotely interested in men. As far as Draco knew. Which to be honest he really didn’t.

            Fuck. It was one thing having an errant thought about how good Potter looked all flushed and disheveled after a game of Quidditch and dismissing it because, well, he wouldn’t be interested anyway. It was another thing to realize Potter’s romantic life or lack thereof (he had apparently broken up with Ginny months ago) was about to be paraded in Draco’s face whether he liked it or not. And that if he wasn’t involved with someone he might end up hanging around their rooms all the time. Alone. And not hating Draco.

            His thoughts temporarily devolved into a stream of the least helpful curse word in his current state of mind. Then he reminded himself it was too late to do anything about it, and, even if it wasn’t (if he was capable of swallowing his pride and asking McGonagall for a different roommate), what would he have done? Draco knew McGonagall had been right about his considerable increase in safety being around Potter- unnerving though it might be- and he didn’t think very many people, apart from Blaise or Theo, would want to share rooms with him.

            And then he had the very unhelpful thought, “Why can’t you be friends with Potter?”

            Out of nowhere. It came out of nowhere. Or maybe not. Because Potter didn’t hate him. Draco was getting frustrated with his mind’s insistence on bringing that up every time he thought about anything even a little related to the unreasonably attractive git. Who didn’t hate him and would maybe want to be friends if Draco proposed it.

            It wasn’t a calculated risk. Slytherins, Draco thought firmly, did not take uncalculated risks. So fucking calculate it, the Potter-appreciating part of his brain retorted. And then he _had_ to do it.

            Fine. Indicators to the positive: friendly insults, not being even a little worried to be seen out of context sitting next to him (not that he couldn’t say whatever he wanted later if anyone asked), agreeing to room with him, apologizing over and over (he probably cared at least a little about Draco’s feelings, even if the apologies were more to assuage his own guilt), speaking for him at his trial, giving back his wand, and… whatever that was on the Quidditch pitch the other day.

            Indicators to the negative: recently nothing.

            Really? That was the best he could do? Recently nothing? He nearly killed you, Draco thought. But that was an accident. And he apologized. And kept apologizing.

            Much though Draco would have loved to use the stalking argument, he had actually been trying to kill the headmaster and open the castle to Death Eaters.

            And then there was the Fiendfyre.

            Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by his absentminded collision with something warm and solid.

            “Shit, sorry.” Potter. Of course he’d run into fucking Potter. He was stooping to pick up his books, which he’d dropped.

            Draco bent to help him.

            “You don’t have to…”

            Draco straightened and shrugged. “It was as much my fault as it was yours. I wasn’t paying attention.”

            Merlin fucking hell. He looked guilty _again_. “Look, about earlier-”

            “Earlier when?”

            “At breakfast. I didn’t realize I’d be putting you on the spot. I mean, I should have, but I guess I just… stopped caring after a while. About rumors." He hadn't technically apologized, but Draco could read Potter well enough at that point to know he wanted to. Would, if Draco let him.

            He didn't. “I would have had to explain it anyway. At least you saved me the trouble.”

            Potter was still wearing that sheepish smile. Like he’d bumped into a first year or something. “Right.”

            Draco’s nerves were screaming. Or his brain was telling him to say something about their getting to know each other (as if they didn’t already, in their way) because they were going to be roommates and that was lighting his nerves on fire. “Are you sure?”

            “About what? Oh. Yeah. I mean, we have a history, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be cordial to each other, right?”

That stung. Shouldn't have, but it did. Cordial. “Of course.”

            “Figure we know each other pretty well already anyway.”

 _That_ was definitely better than cordial. Which was starting to lose meaning as a word in Draco’s thoughts. “Bound to pick up some information in all the stupid fights we’ve had over the years.”

            “Yeah. You drink coffee at dinner when you have Astronomy.” He was wearing this stupid smile, like he half expected Draco to punch him in the face for remembering.

            Draco smiled, too. Two could play at that game. “Only when I’m not planning on crashing the kitchens later. And you ditch your friends when they’re fighting to go sit with Lovegood.”

            “Only when she’s sitting close enough for them not to notice.”

            They stood there, smiling at each other. Like they were fucking friends. Like they hadn’t been considering murder when they’d picked up the admittedly invasive information on each other’s dinner habits.

            So Draco blurted, “Friends?”

            Potter stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

            Draco sighed exasperatedly and pretended he wasn't asking for the moon. “It doesn’t make sense to go on ignoring each other if we’re going to be seeing each other all the time.” Thank Merlin he hadn’t slipped and said ‘keeping tabs on each other for McGonagall.’ And they did have more than half their classes together.

            “Okay. Yeah.”

            Draco turned and headed into the classroom. The world had had enough miracles for one day. No need for them to actually have a conversation.

            But then, that wasn’t entirely up to him, a fact of which he became very aware when Potter followed him into the classroom and sat next to him.

            “What?” Potter was smiling in a way that was dangerously close to a smirk. The only thing keeping it from crossing into trademark Draco territory was the fact Harry's innocence wasn't purely sarcastic. “Friends sit next to each other in class.”

            Draco forewent the threat that popped into his mind in response and opted to say nothing.

            Neither of them was compelled to talk for the entire first hour, because Flitwick was lecturing and all of Potter’s spare attention was being used to throw more of those innocent looks at Ron and Hermione, who had taken the desk to his right.

            Midway through class, though, Flitwick instructed them to review nonverbal Summoning charms, and the class shifted into collaboration mode.

            Potter was quite good at Summoning charms (and Banishing charms). He was sending his quill across the room and Summoning it back before Flitwick had started making the rounds.

            “I don’t know why we have to review this,” a Ravenclaw girl to Draco’s left said a bit loudly. A second later, she dropped the book she was Banishing in the middle of the room.

            “That’s why,” Draco muttered under his breath.

            Potter laughed.

            Draco managed not to emit a hysterical sound in response and Banished his textbook straight up into the air.

            Potter hummed appreciatively. “Original. Stupid if you drop it, though.”

            “I won’t drop it.”

            “I know.” Draco resisted the urge to check if Harry was grinning. He could hear it in his damned voice.

            Draco wasn’t sure how long the normal conversation thing would last, but he figured he may as well go along with it as long as it did. “You used a Summoning charm in the Triwizard Tournament, didn’t you?”

            “Yeah. I can do them in my sleep.”

            “I don’t think even the Chosen One’s that good.”

            “Really? Because once Ron was up late studying for a Potions test and saw me do it.”

            Draco stared at him for a second. Then he looked back to his task of Summoning his book and said, “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to believe you.”

            “Right. Well, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of chances. If we’re friends now.”

            “Oi, Malfoy!”

            Draco turned to find Weasley addressing him. “Yes?”

            “Did Harry just refer to you as friends?”

            “I believe so.”

            “Can you explain that to me? Because last I checked-” he was interrupted by the arrival of Flitwick to check on their progress.

            Weasley did not get the opportunity to pursue his inquiry for the rest of the class, and Draco was sure to be the first one out of the door to avoid his asking again. Potter could deal with that one.

            Although Weasley had been surprisingly… cordial.

            Potter didn’t approach him during lunch or attempt to sit next to him during Potions. But he did smile across the Great Hall at Draco midway through dinner, darting his eyes down for a second to Draco’s coffee. Draco took a sip to hide his blush.

            Yeah. He was fucked.

 

            Draco didn’t see much of Potter for the rest of the week. Professor McGonagall hadn’t mentioned anything about their rooms in class, but she had instructed them to do a difficult bit of Transfiguration nonverbally and requested the class remain silent for concentration. Not that Potter had been sitting close, anyway. Sometimes when they made (accidental) eye contact he smiled.

            Evidently Flitwick had been consulting with McGonagall, because Friday’s Charms class was silent as well.

            “I know this charm is more difficult than the last, but you won’t have a class to collaborate with on your NEWT examinations.”

            Draco hoped he wouldn’t have a Potter to stare at, either, because even sitting next to him was getting distracting. It would have helped if he didn’t specifically attempt to make eye contact when Draco did something right. It was encouraging and made his stomach swoop a little and was fucking infuriating and it wasn’t like Draco couldn’t concentrate or anything but being friends with Potter just… didn’t feel right.

            As he sat in the Slytherin common room after dinner on Friday writing up the first Potions essay of the term, Draco wondered if he shouldn’t have just started hanging around near Potter with no context. It seemed as though his actually asking to be friends complicated their comfortable, insult-only relationship, and Draco didn’t want to lose that ridiculous competitive thing just so he could get nervous every other class pretending he didn’t notice Potter’s attempts to nonverbally communicate. But then, maybe they could get back into that. It wasn’t as if they’d had a chance to interact properly apart from the Charms class.

            And, even if he hadn’t thrown an insult in there at the end of Charms, the undertones of challenge were definitely still there. Draco also knew he was feeling jittery because they hadn’t changed rooms yet, and there was a whole set of previously unnecessary interactions they’d have to work out in that first week.

            Draco sighed. Thinking about Potter wasn’t going to help him finish his essay.

            He got through it with an hour of careful focus (or, more accurately, strategic ignorance of some of his less-productive thoughts). No sooner had Draco capped his inkwell than a frazzled-looking second year was striding through the doorway and approaching him. “Professor McGonagall’s looking for you.”

            Why she hadn’t chosen a better form of communication was beyond him. A flip of anticipation shot through him as Draco said, “Did she say why?”

            “No. Says to meet her on the fifth floor, west corridor.”

            “Thanks.” After a split second of indecision, Draco threw his things into his bag, picked up the essay (the last bit of parchment was still drying), and headed out of the common room.

            He was walking much too fast and- Draco forced himself to slow and cast a drying charm on the parchment before sliding it into his bag. He was still walking faster than usual, but that was a perfectly understandable response to a summons by the headmistress.

            When he finally got to the fifth floor, he found Potter and McGonagall already waiting, standing on either side of a landscape scene. The painting showed a wooded shore at dusk, river waves sweeping peacefully along the muddy banks.

            “Mr. Malfoy.”

            “Headmistress.”

            “This picture is enchanted to allow the two of you to enter, and any guests who you permit to do so. You need only tap the canvas and say the name of the person you would like to have access. Doing so again will revoke their access. Myself, the two of you, and your head of house, Mr. Malfoy- who I presume you are aware is Professor Honeycutt- have been granted permanent access. If you need anything regarding the rooms, I ask that you first contact the house elves, who will likely be more than capable of assisting you, before coming to me.”

            Both of them thanked her, and she swept off down the corridor and out of sight.

            “Well,” Potter started, “Might as well figure out who’s sleeping where before we get our trunks.” He reached out to touch the frame, and the painting swung inwards to admit them.

            The room was close and warm, though not cramped, and a fire was blazing in the grate opposite the door. A worn, inviting blue sofa and two squashy-looking red armchairs sat around the fire, and there was a large window on either side of it. To the right of the door was a desk, dark wood faded by years of use, and to the left a small table with four chairs. There was one door on the left wall and two on the right. Scattered lamps had the place well-lit, though the darkness outside the uncurtained windows pressed a bit more insistently than it had in any of the common rooms Draco had visited.

            "Hmm," Harry hummed, as if to say 'this'll do nicely,' and went over to the left-hand door and peered in. He hummed again and stood back to let Draco see. "This one's blue. Shall we check the other one?"

            Draco turned, wound around the sofa, and opened one of the right-side doors. "Green," he murmured.

            They went over to the other door, which led to a well-appointed bathroom, and then stepped back into the sitting room a little and just sort of stood there.

            "I'll take the blue room," Harry said. "I mean, if you don't..."

            "No," Draco responded. "It's fine. I think I like the green one, anyway." It wasn't that it reminded him of his bedroom, exactly, done up as it was in rich shades of silver and gray with only a few green accents, but it did remind him of the Slytherin dormitory, and the murky green calm outside the windows, and he thought that would be good for a place at Hogwarts.

            "I'm going to go and get my trunk."

            "Right." Draco turned to put his bag in his room before getting his own trunk, and Harry opened the painting and went out.

            Draco breathed a sigh of relief when the picture swung shut. It wasn't that he was glad to be rid of Harry, but Merlin, he could practically hear the tension buzzing in the air. It was a type that he wasn't used to, a pervading 'I don't know what to do'-ness that strained the tentative ease of their newly-declared friendship and threatened to give way to even worse unease. They wouldn't let that happen, Draco thought firmly. The preliminary awkwardness of sharing a bathroom and not knowing any of each other's living habits would pass, and they would get used to each other, and Draco absolutely would not be nervous around him for any reason.

            His room, Draco observed, was actually quite nice. The bed had green hangings strikingly similar to his old ones, and there was a huge window and a desk and a bookcase to the left of it that meant he'd actually have a place to put his books if he wanted to bring more back after the holiday. Not that he knew what his plans were at that point, but he would have to see his mother, and the prospect of sleeping in his own bed instead of this one (though it was new, and promised no associations with sleepless years of terror-filled nightmares) was too tempting to ignore.

            It was also fantastic that the bed was a double instead of a single. Draco liked to sprawl out in his sleep, when he slept properly, something dormitory beds didn't easily accommodate. He liked that there was a painting on the wall next to the wardrobe (another landscape, this one of a grassy hillside in the rising sun, blades swishing gently in the breeze), and that he could look out his window without the prick of feeling someone behind him, and that the warm soft knitted green blanket reminded him of one a great-aunt had done that his mother always kept draped over the back of her favorite chair at home.

            Draco hung his bag on a hook inside the wardrobe and went back through the sitting room and out into the quiet corridor, thinking that this thing with Potter might work out decently after all.


	5. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes some progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Charles Dickens, specifically for writing Bleak House, from which I borrowed the chapter title. I tried to come up with a better one, but 'understanding' happens to be the name of the next chapter, so... Yeah. Thank you C.D.

            Harry wanted to smile as he packed his things. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Probably because he felt a little jolt of nervousness every time he considered he'd be sharing a bathroom with Malfoy. Probably also because he was leaving the Gryffindor dormitory for good, and, even if the common room was still his, that circular room with the tall drafty windows and the worn stone floors no longer would be.

            Ron had come up to help him, and he was actually folding Harry's jumpers before throwing them in his trunk. When, Harry asked himself with amazement, had Ron started folding things?

            "Well. I guess this is it, then, mate."

            "I'll be two floors down and I gave you access to the room on my way out before I came here."

            "Yeah. But it's different, you know? Eighth year. People are moving on."

            Harry considered pointing out that Ron had done a decent amount of moving on himself, but decided not to push it just then. "Yeah."

            "Reckon Neville and I'll be out of here in a few more days, if McGonagall will let us. I like the seventh year blokes and all, but it feels weirder than I think it would otherwise, if just Dean and Seamus had gone."

            They stood there for a second. There was nothing else to say.

            "Right. I've got a study date with Hermione at five thirty, and I don't think she'd appreciate it if I were late." Ron hesitated in the doorway. "See you later, Harry."

            "See you."

            Ron closed the door quietly behind him.

            Harry took a moment to say goodbye to his onetime home before moving on to what would hopefully be a very good temporary one.

 

            The bedroom in his rooms with Malfoy reminded him a lot of his own at Grimmauld Place, rich as it was in deep navys and black-browns and thick heavy fabrics that promised warmth and safety and nights of being cozy in spite of the dreams and the nightmares that usually kept him from sleeping.

            This window was nice, too, and he had all the typical dormitory furniture with the added bonuses of a bookshelf and a bigger bed. He'd gotten used to one at Grimmauld Place, and to the blue, and being back in the dorm with everyone else made him feel like he was trying to be a person he wasn't anymore. The new room felt comfortable, and easy, unlinked to his past but still distinctly Hogwarts. Harry couldn't say what about the place made it look like it belonged in the castle- maybe the history in the worn-out rug, or the soft light of sunrise peeking through the clouds in the painting of a sea beach hung next to the wardrobe, or the red blanket folded thick and warm as a Weasley sweater sitting at the foot of his bed. Whatever it was, he decided he liked it, and unshrunk his things and flipped open his trunk to start unpacking.

            Malfoy hadn't been in when Harry got back, but he heard the painting swing open and shut a few minutes after he finished hanging his robes. Harry had left his door open partway, if not enough to see through to the sitting room. He thought he'd end up leaving it open most of the time- he didn't like closing doors at Grimmauld Place, even when he slept- but the telltale snap from across the chamber told him Malfoy probably wouldn't be doing the same.

            Well. Harry might end up closing the door at night, anyway. He wasn't sure how it would feel having someone else sleeping across the sitting room from him. Though he'd come close to falling back into the pattern of sharing a room that past week, he hadn't been sleeping nearly as well as he had even at Grimmauld Place, and more than once he'd ended up in the common room in the early hours of the morning trying to read himself into exhaustion.

            When Harry had finished arranging his things in a way that he thought was most likely to encourage him to keep them that way, he went into the sitting room. He had been sitting on the couch for a good ten minutes and was beginning to feel stupid for not having brought anything to do when Malfoy emerged from his room, carrying a book, and shut his door behind him.

            “I shower at night,” Malfoy said. He passed Harry and went to sit in the chair to the left of the fire.

            “I don’t really, erm, have a specific time. Don’t really sleep much, either, though, so I doubt that’ll be a problem.”

            “Neither do I.” Malfoy kept sitting there, reading. He didn’t say ‘don’t touch my stuff’ or ‘go in my room and I’ll hex you into next year’ or ‘no guests past eleven.’ He just sat and said nothing.

            Harry decided then was as good a time as any to take a shower, since Malfoy didn’t seem like he was going to anytime soon. As he willed the too-hot water to blast the tension from his shoulders, Harry realized he hadn’t set any ground rules, either. Granted, nothing came to mind, but the fact that neither of them had said anything was a bit strange.

            Well. It was Malfoy. Everything was bound to be a bit strange nearly-rooming with him.

            Or maybe it wasn’t. Crossing back through the sitting room to change into his pajamas, Harry noticed that Malfoy looked… not comfortable, exactly, but definitely more relaxed than he had been any other time Harry had seen him since they’d been back. They did know each other well enough, sort of, and they had shared classrooms and a locker room and a library and the Great Hall for years without getting on each other’s nerves more often than either of them wanted. He didn’t feel nervous or awkward or threatened passing Malfoy in nothing but a towel and foggy glasses. He felt uncertain, but Harry didn’t think that was unusual. There really wasn’t any other way to feel getting used to living with someone.

            Once he had on some plaid flannel bottoms and a t-shirt, Harry went back into the sitting room and sat on the couch again, sliding down so his head rested on the left arm and his feet on the right. He wasn’t in the mood to think of sleeping, yet, and he had a sizeable chunk of DADA reading to get through before class on Monday.

            They read for a good twenty minutes before Malfoy stood, announced he was showering, and disappeared into his room. He came back a second later with a stack of clothes and toiletries and went to take his shower. Despite it being a rather long one, Harry was still in the room when he was finished. He said a quiet goodnight, which Harry returned with a glance, before heading to bed.

            Harry stayed up until he finished his reading, enjoying the peace of an unoccupied common space, then did a bit more reading so he was properly groggy for his first attempt at sleep. The waves in the painting rolling tranquilly up to the sand, and the light coming in from the dying sitting room fire through the inch or two of open door, and the blanket that felt so much like a Weasley sweater all conspired to make him drowsy, and within a few minutes he was drifting off to sleep.

 

            After a week the silence had become companionable, and their conversations in Charms, where Harry insisted on sitting next to Malfoy, kept the light tone they’d had on that first day. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind when Harry came in after the late-night flights he took when one of his attempts at sleep proved less successful than the one on that first night, and Harry didn’t mind when Malfoy came in too many hours after a nighttime Astronomy class looking suspiciously like he’d been walking the grounds for hours.

            McGonagall stopped Harry after Transfiguration and asked him if things were going well on Thursday, and he reported that he was fine and sleeping better than he had been in the dormitory. That bit was only half-true, but he figured some sleep was a vast improvement on no sleep. Harry didn’t yet feel qualified to comment on Malfoy’s well-being. Despite their frequent early-morning encounters, Malfoy was looking less tired than he had before.

            The news of their sort-of rooming together spread about as gracefully as such information ever did at Hogwarts. Which meant Harry would be deflecting questions from people he'd never met all week. Luckily people weren't being too awful about it, and he hoped the unwanted attention- and the rumors- would die down as classes got into full swing.

            Professor Sinistra was enthusiastic about his ability to join the seventh and eighth year Astronomy class and gave Harry an armload of reading that would ideally get him caught up to the rest of the students. Although missing a year was a bit of a problem, there hadn't been much learning going on in the castle the year previously, and the teachers were doing what they could to avoid forcing their students to have to repeat past years.

            His History of Magic prospects were rather more daunting. Binns agreed to let him sit in on classes, but said that he'd have to take a test similar to his original OWL exam- and do more reading even than Professor Sinistra had assigned- if he wanted to join the class. True to his intention to at least attempt to enter the class properly, Harry planned spending Friday night in the library in the hopes of parsing out what exactly he would need to do to get an E on his pseudo-OWL.

            Partway through his walk, Harry found himself changing course for the Owelry. Whether he was inspired by a solid three days thinking about OWL exams or because he had only gone to talk to Hedwig once that week, he found his stress easing as he looped down familiar corridors.

            The Owelry was blissfully empty (save the few owls who had yet to leave for the night), and Harry leaned against a section of wall he Scourgified for the purpose and stared up into the rafters. "I'm back again, finally, Hedwig. I'm supposed to be studying to retake my History of Magic OWL- Binns reckons I've got a month before my chances of catching up in class are shot- but I think I needed a break from feeling like a fifth year again.

            "I'm not really sure what's going on with Malfoy, though he seems much nicer than... well, much nicer than he was when I was trying to get him arrested. He's insisted I've apologized enough. It's not like I expect him to forgive me. I'd have a hard time-" but he stopped, because Harry didn't think that was true. Annoyed though he sometimes was to admit it, he'd forgive nearly anything if the person apologizing actually meant it. Even so, he understood why people would need time to forgive, or wouldn't be able to at all; he'd been the angriest person he'd known for a long time. "I guess what bothers me about it is the thought that Malfoy might not want to live with me, and for some reason I don't think I'll be sure he does unless he says something about what happened. It isn't even that he has to forgive me- I don't care if he does- it's that if he doesn't say he doesn't mind our living so close I won't be able to stop thinking he minds.

            "And okay, so maybe I do care a little, if he forgives me, but that doesn't really matter, does it, because as long as we're not trying to kill each other I think things'll be okay." Harry realized that he thought that was true. They already were okay, fears about Malfoy's comfort notwithstanding. Malfoy had even returned his smiles once or twice, and even if they'd avoided talking about anything serious, he did believe Malfoy wanted to be friends. Maybe not deepest-fear-sharing, wandering-the-castle-at-night friends, but friends all the same.

            "You know, Hedwig, I..." Harry trailed off. "Hedwig," he repeated. " _Hedwig_. Hedwig! Thank you!"

            And Harry sprinted off to the library, feeling more like Hermione than he thought he probably ever had in his life.

 

            Too many hours later, hungry and exhausted, Harry dragged himself down the darkened hallways back towards his room. He considered going down to the kitchens for food, but the thought of carrying his bag, jammed with books, twice as far was a bit more than he thought he could handle, even if he would get to eat a bit earlier if he did. Harry had missed dinner, and he wouldn't be surprised if he found a message from his friends waiting for him when he finally made it back to the fifth floor.

            His and Malfoy's rooms were mercifully close to the library. He stumbled through the doorway, dumped the two books he was holding and his over-filled bag on the table, and glanced around.

            "Where have you been?" Malfoy asked with a hint of curiosity, not looking up from his book.

            "Can't you tell?" Harry smiled. "I've got loads of studying to do because I'm trying to switch classes. Did Ron or Hermione leave anything for me?"

            "No. But Granger did come by and say you had better be at lunch tomorrow to explain yourself."

            Lunch. So Hermione had considered the possibility that Harry would be sleeping in. Which he hopefully would be, to make up for the hectic week and cement at least some of what he'd read in his brain. Good.

            Harry turned back to the painting and was about to step through the doorway when Draco said, "Leaving again so soon?"

            "I missed dinner."

            Malfoy closed his book and stood. "I've got to be at Astronomy in a few minutes." Which was as good as offering to walk part of the way together, so Harry waited while he grabbed his bag and then led the way out of the room.

            "I'm not starting class until next week. Ideally I won't be so far behind by then." Malfoy made a noncommittal noise, but didn't look annoyed, so Harry continued, "History of Magic's going to be a bit harder."

            Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "A bit? Didn't you get a D on your OWL?"

            "Yes. But I wasn't exactly conscious for the entire thing. And I'd forgot how good learning about magic could be, even if it is Binns giving the lectures."

            "Learning about magic instead of learning it? That doesn't sound very Potter-like."

            "Hard to be much of anything when you're..." Harry didn't want to say 'me,' and he definitely didn't want to say 'the Chosen One,' so he decided to say nothing at all.

            Draco must've guessed what he meant, though, because he said, "I'd bet our OWL year was equally shit for both of us."

            Harry couldn't tell if that had been a deliberate attempt to change the subject or if they were sort of talking about the same thing. He supposed it didn't really matter. "You're probably right about that."

            "Probably," Draco scoffed. "I had the darkest wizard in Britain- or maybe ever- moving into my house, and you had the entire world thinking you'd gone mad."

            Harry smiled. "Call it a draw, then?"

            "If it were a competition. Although I don't think it is." His voice sounded sad.

            "I don't think it is, either," Harry said seriously, and they were silent for minutes.

            By then they'd come to the base of the Astronomy Tower.

            "I'll hopefully be asleep when you get back, so... see you tomorrow."

            "You'd better be asleep," was all Draco said.

            Harry had gone a few steps when he turned back around. "You shouldn't be out so late, either, you know."

            Draco smiled. "Fuck off, Potter."

            "Goodnight to you, too," Harry said, and headed to the kitchens.

 

            Harry woke the next morning just after ten, feeling very satisfied with his eight hours and the stack of books waiting on the sitting room table. He was contemplating going down to the kitchens again for tea and toast when Malfoy came through their painting, looking like he'd been awake for hours already despite the dark circles that had long since begun to seem permanently etched under his eyes.

            "Morning," Harry said.

            "Morning. You look like you slept."

            "You look like you didn't. I was still awake when you came in." Harry didn't know why he saw fit to share that piece of information, but he figured it didn't matter much. They were friends. Unpleasant conversations with owls or not.

            "Might I ask what inspired you to spend entirely too many hours in the library last night? And how you convinced Madam Pince to let you stay there so late?"

            "I remembered how much I used to read over the summer holidays- or some of them, at least- and realized maybe if I found some of the things I found interesting back then, and worked outwards toward the actual class stuff, I'd..." Harry shrugged. "Madam Pince was reorganizing something important, so she let me stay until she left."

            "She wasn't worried about you defacing her books when she wasn't looking?"

            "I think she goes easier on us when we're enthusiastic about researching something."

            "That's true." Malfoy went over to the left-side chair and collapsed into it. "I once got really interested in a Transfiguration project and she told me where to find more books without my asking. I don’t think she looked suspiciously at me once the whole time I was there.” Harry realized that Malfoy didn’t have a book, that he was just talking, and that he was probably saying more than he had the whole time they’d lived together because he wasn’t finished. “What are you going to do with History of Magic, then? I mean, obviously you care about it, but it might not be worth making up an OWL if you weren’t going to use it for something later.”

            “I want to lobby for elf rights. Or change the Hogwarts curriculum. Or something. Haven’t quite decided yet.” Harry ducked into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush.

            “So, you’re going to use your rediscovered love of magic history to learn everything you can about the aged traditions of the wizarding world, and then… fix them?”

            Harry shrugged, conveying that that was basically his plan.

            “And you don’t think becoming Minister of Magic would help you accomplish these things more easily?”

            Harry removed his toothbrush for long enough to reply, “The Minister doesn’t have that much power, and, honestly, I’d be fucking terrible at it.” He finished brushing his teeth, rinsed his mouth, and went to sit on the sofa.

            Malfoy looked amused. “I agree, though I don’t think you’d be terrible for the same reasons you think.”

            “What reasons are those, then? If you know them already?”

            “You think you’d be terrible at it because you don’t want to be a public figure. I think you’d be terrible because you’d want to do too many things for too many people and there wouldn’t be enough time or resources to help everyone.”

            Harry thought about that for a moment. “I guess you have a point. What are you going to do, then, with Transfiguration and Potions and Astronomy?”

            Malfoy hesitated. “I don’t know.”

            “Professor McGonagall’s looking for an apprentice.”

            “So I could spend my days being ridiculed by my students until they’re young enough not to remember the war, living in isolation without having-” he stopped, but he didn’t need to keep going. Because Harry _knew_ that feeling. He knew the uncertainty in the pit of his stomach that wrenched like dread every time he thought of spending his entire life at Hogwarts.

            So he said, “No. I wouldn’t want that, either.”

            They sat in silence for a few moments, and Harry didn’t know what else to say. He rarely felt like he was experiencing the same things as anyone, always out of step with wherever his friends were in life. Maybe they were close, but nothing lined up near as well as it should have. He was feeling like he’d probably seen more than any of them ever would, more than he ever wanted them to, feeling like he’d aged ten years in less than one, and he still didn’t know where to start. They’d been through hell together, but when they’d come out- even before then- they had all had some idea of where they were going. Before his revelation about house elves or even the one about History of Magic, Harry had just been floating. Unsure. It wasn't like the nightmares were the only things keeping him up at night. Deciding what he maybe wanted to do was different from knowing he could do it.

            And, in some ways, Malfoy was the same.

He'd never thought of them as the same. But they were. Always had been. Or had been for a very long time. So long it didn't seem to matter when it started, because there they were, the same, and the thought of being in the same place as anyone, even Malfoy, was fantastic and overwhelming.

            Malfoy stood up and looked at him strangely, part-confusion, part-resolve. “What do you want from me, Potter?”

            The words pulled him away from wherever his thoughts had been headed before, and suddenly Harry was tired again. “I don’t want anything from you, Malfoy.” Harry heard how weary his voice sounded. Probably because he knew what it felt like to have people want things from you. Because he knew how exhausting it was. And because, even if he was more than half convinced he was about to spend the rest of his life signing up for the exact same type of expectation via his chosen career, he knew firsthand just how nice it was to accept responsibility on your own terms.

            And then the flicker of hope came back- that's what it must have been, terrifying as that was- because they'd both had to deal with that, too. It felt good talking to Malfoy because he _understood_.

            Even if he kept throwing Harry off balance, which he did again when he asked, “Not even my forgiveness?”

            “Not if you- Not if you don’t want to give it.” Harry didn’t say ‘or if you can’t.’ He hoped Malfoy heard it, anyway.

            Malfoy stared at him. It was long, and penetrating, and Harry felt like Malfoy was looking for something important but he couldn’t tell what it was. “I don’t know yet,” Malfoy said, which was surprising, or maybe it wasn’t, and then he went into his room and shut the door.

            Harry sighed and stood to dress, figuring he had better not keep Hermione waiting.


	6. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco thinks about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's short! I'm trying to be more consistent (or at least consistently hit 3k) for later chapters.

            By Tuesday Draco was torn between appreciating having Potter around and being beyond annoyed that it took so much effort. 

            Or maybe he didn’t mind the effort, but he did mind that he didn’t mind it, because it meant he _cared_ , and the thought of Draco caring about Potter in any capacity was rather… disconcerting. Going from years of intense dislike to sharing a common room (because neither of them seemed to go to their house common rooms much anymore) wasn’t difficult; Draco knew Harry. It was easy. That was the problem. 

            They hadn’t discussed anything important or serious apart from that one night, but Draco knew better than to think something wouldn’t come up again eventually. 

            He hadn’t thought when it did it’d be his fault. 

            Potter had said something about having been in the Owelry, and Draco remembered that day they’d run into each other after McGonagall had said he could change rooms. “You knew!” 

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “No. I didn’t.” 

            Draco exhaled. “Of course McGonagall didn’t pull you aside the second you said you wanted to live alone and give you the pick of the rooms.” Something occurred to him, though, something which complicated his suspicions. “You can’t have chosen if it meant you knew you’d be living with me.” 

            Harry laughed quietly. “What, don’t fancy being the Chosen One for a change?” 

            Draco was too surprised by the implications in the question to reply immediately. He must have been losing his touch. 

            “Don’t look so surprised. And I didn’t exactly pick from a list, if that’s what you’re thinking. I said I wanted to live alone, Professor McGonagall imposed conditions, and I agreed to them.” 

            That wasn’t much less surprising. “You agreed to living with me? With no ultimatum? Because I doubt McGonagall would give you an ultimatum.” 

            “We’ve got separate rooms.” 

            “You tried to kill me fifth year.” But Harry looked unconscionably sad at that, so Draco quickly backtracked. “Which you apologized sufficiently for.” He’d taken the wrong route. He should have implicated himself. 

            Harry still looked rather put-out. Damn. “I really am sorry about that.” 

            Draco was feeling unbearably uncomfortable. What was the word? There was a better one. Fuck. He wasn’t feeling guilty. He was feeling _protective_. He didn’t even know if he wanted to forgive the git! They'd been rooming together for barely over a week! Shoving the feeling away with a mixture of disgust and confusion, Draco replied, “You’ve said.” 

            Their wildly different (or maybe not so in the case of Draco’s suppressed protective streak) reactions hung like a challenge in the air between them. Harry appeared dissatisfied and unhappy. Draco hoped his expression conveyed something akin to ‘just fucking drop it already.’ 

            Harry broke first. He let out a messy sigh. “Well, fine. I guess it’s selfish to keep apologizing, anyway. But we really don’t have many valid reasons to hate each other. I thought we could at least stand the living situation. Especially if you wanted privacy as much as I did.” 

            And they were standing it. Hell, Draco was enjoying it. They seemed to share an understanding, forged over years of animosity, maybe, that was more instinctual even than the relationships he had with his oldest friends. They didn't need to talk. Sometimes they didn't even need to make eye contact. He could predict how Harry was going to react to things even when the reaction seemed to make no sense. So yes. Of course he could stand the living situation. "I guess you thought right, then." 

            Harry looked so stunned at that (when had he started thinking of him as Harry?) that he didn't seem to be able to say anything for a moment. Then he said, "I don't hate you." 

            "I don't hate you, either." 

            Harry stared at him like he was trying to figure out if Draco meant it. 

            He did. "Now that's settled, then," Draco said as nonchalantly as he could, and went into his room. 

            He could feel Harry staring through the door for a good five minutes before he heard him leave the sitting room. 

 

            Draco often felt like he was on the edge of something important, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. He thought it had something to do with the 'having a career and not falling back on your inheritance' thing. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ to sit around doing nothing the rest of his life; he'd admitted as much to Potter last weekend. But it seemed as though every possible career path he tried to trace out for himself in his head ended badly. 

            Part of his problem was likely the fact that Draco didn't need to figure out what he was going to do. He had a virtually unlimited supply of money (at least as far as his prudent spending habits were concerned) and the luxury of time afforded to those who had massive webs of connection at their disposal. Yes, some of those connections were untenable in a postwar world, but it wasn't as if his entire family network had blacked out after the war. There were still plenty of people who had supported Voldemort wielding considerable amounts of power, and, if he looked hard enough, Draco might even be able to find a morally upstanding citizen or two to help him find his way in the world. 

            No, what Draco wanted was to find something he actually liked doing. Fuck liked. He wanted to do something he loved. It wouldn't matter if he was good at it; his Slytherin work-ethic meant he'd be able to do pretty much anything if he set his mind to it. It was the finding of the thing that was turning out to be so difficult. He'd been good enough at Charms and Transfiguration to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, but that had been done under duress and offered no particular enjoyment in the task itself. 

            What did he love, then? Flying. What could one do with that? Professional Quidditch? He had been out of practice for far too long. Even if the bad-boy angle would've made a team millions on merchandise. Draco had never liked training, either, because he thought it detracted somewhat from his personal reasons for loving flying. Usurping Madam Hooch was neither possible nor desirable, and Draco didn't think teaching at another school would be much better. That left working in the industry (granted he was even able to find a job- people weren't exactly queuing up to hire former Death Eaters) or foregoing that path altogether and finding something else he loved. 

            Despite what he'd told Potter, there was a point to the NEWTs he was doing; Draco was trying to sample things he already liked in the hopes of striking on one that would inspire him to find a meaningful career, or at least a goal for his time after Hogwarts. 

            If all else failed, he supposed he could write a tell-all book about what it had been like to have one's house turned into the Dark Lord's central command. It wouldn't be easy, and it definitely wouldn't be enjoyable, but at least he'd have the chance to tell his side of the story. 

            Draco made a mental note to come up with a better contingency plan and got back to reviewing his Charms notes. Techniques for nonverbal recitation... visualization in situations with limited wand movements... What the fuck was Pansy doing with a duffel bag? 

            "Pans? What's that?" 

            "It's Serena's. Since there are four eighth year Slytherin girls, our room has a bit of extra space, and the others don't seem to care, so..." She shrugged with an air of put-on nonchalance. 

            "Did the thought of sharing with a Gryffindor girl put you off McGonagall's offer?" 

            Pansy laughed. "No. It's a pain in the ass. She contacted us a few days after you moved and offered, but our options weren't nearly as good as yours." 

            Draco gave a skeptical snort. "Good?" 

            "Potter's one of the fittest people in this school. You get to see him shirtless." 

            Draco could have argued that Harry wasn't shirtless all that often, but he knew Pansy would take that as an admission of the fact that he had, in fact, seen him half-naked more than once. He decided to argue the obvious instead. "You're a lesbian." 

            "So? I can still appreciate the aesthetic brilliance of the Chosen One. And Serena said she'd go out with him if he were ever interested. I don't think I would mind." 

            "You wouldn't mind your monogamous girlfriend fucking Harry Potter on the side?" 

            Pansy laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. We'd both be fucking him." 

            "That's not something I want to be thinking about halfway through my Charms homework, so if you'd kindly _fuck off_ -" 

            "You're halfway in love with him already, darling. It's written all over your face." 

            Draco plastered on his best fake smile and said, "Tell Serena I said hello." 

            Pansy left him to his unwanted thoughts and his undone Charms homework. 

 

            Harry had taken to walking to and from Astronomy with Draco. Draco had a strong suspicion that this necessitated his stopping back at their rooms on Friday for no good reason (he was always in the Gryffindor common room or somewhere with his friends beforehand), but he decided not to question it. 

            After a few minutes of tense silence, Draco decided to indulge the fact that he sort of cared and asked, "Is something the matter?" 

            "It's Hermione. She's having issues with her parents, and it's... been hard for her." 

            Draco hadn't realized they'd got to the point where they were sharing personal information about their other friends. Did that mean Harry was telling his friends about Draco? Draco didn't doubt for a second that both of them understood the line between 'repeat this at your own risk' and 'who gives a fuck,' so it didn't matter much either way. He was also clearly sharing a very limited version of the story, but that didn't bother Draco; if anything, it reaffirmed their boundaries. "She does usually possess the kind of confidence that decent family relations inspire." 

            "So even you've noticed, then?" 

            Draco shrugged. He had paid enough attention to Harry over the years to pick up on some of Granger and Weasley's tendencies, and he supposed Granger had seemed a little off recently. "Hard not to notice when our classes are so small." 

            "Right. Well, anyway, Ron's been brilliant. There isn't really much we can do to help her, though." 

            Draco sighed sympathetically. The last time he'd helped someone with parental issues had been pretending to date Pansy in fifth year, but he doubted it was an appropriate time to bring that up. "I think the most you can do is make sure she knows you support her regardless of whatever's going on with her parents." 

            "Yeah. Ron's trying to convince her not to do any homework the day of the Halloween Hogsmeade visit. I think she's got so caught up in preparing for the worst-case scenario that she doesn't..." Harry shook his head and smiled wistfully. "I suppose our year's rather good at that." 

            "Worst-case scenarios? Yeah. We're fantastic at them. That's how we survived the skrewts." 

            "Must you bring up the skrewts?" Harry said, but he looked a little cheered, so Draco didn't really care how they'd ended up there. 

            "You can't tell me you didn’t find them loveable," Draco pressed in his most serious of sarcastic tones. 

            "Oh, yeah. Second only to Pygmy Puffs." 

            "What about when they blasted off and set your robes on fire?" 

            "Are you trying to pass that off as a feature?" 

            "Absolutely. They can defend against burglars and keep you warm in the winter." 

            They stared at each other, Draco's face as straight as it was possible to be (given he wasn't), Harry's raised eyebrows and faint smile betraying how hard it was for him to hold off laughter. Then they did laugh, gasping, desperate bursts of it, and when they finally stopped Draco felt like some part of everything built up between them had fallen away. 

            Professor Sinistra glared when they were late to Astronomy. Harry shot a bunch of smiles across the tower at Draco that class, and Draco returned every one. 


	7. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco helps Harry.

            Harry submitted the necessary paperwork to switch officially into Astronomy and heard back from the board a few days later. In the message granting him permission to take his Astronomy NEWT, they set a date by which he'd have to do his History of Magic OWL.

            The date was that coming Friday.

            "You've been studying nonstop practically since we got here. You'll do great," Ron said firmly as they finished breakfast on Monday.

            Harry found his own appetite had disappeared. "Yeah," he said hollowly. He hadn't really slept the night before, which he supposed he should have known was a sign.

            Hermione shook her head. "You're really intelligent, Harry. Once you set your mind to something, there's no stopping you."

            "Right." In a half-hearted attempt to prove Hermione's words to himself, Harry pulled a History of Magic book out of his bag and flipped it open on the table in front of him, shoving his plate out of the way and nearly spilling Ron's tea. "Sorry."

            "Maybe you should take a break," Ron suggested.

            "A break?" Harry repeated.

            "You may sleep better if you give yourself a few moments to relax." Ah, yes, Harry thought. Devil's Snare advice coming from Hermione, who was doing a _great_ job taking his and Ron's advice that she do exactly the same thing.

            Harry felt a pang of guilt. Hermione was having a shit time of it and she didn't seem to be having any trouble preparing for her NEWTs, refusal to take breaks or not.

            Original OWL circumstances notwithstanding, Harry would have only himself to blame if he couldn't learn everything he needed in time. Yes, it was asking a bit much of himself, but, really, going back to what Hermione had said, when had that stopped him? "I guess I can take a day off. But I'll only do it if you agree no homework on the day of the Hogsmeade visit."

            "Fine," Hermione sighed.

            "Really?" Ron looked hopeful.

            "You two have been bothering me about it for ages. And you do sort of have a point."

            As Ron attempted to enthuse Hermione about the Hogsmeade weekend (which was still  weeks away), Harry begrudgingly jammed his book back into his bag. He wasn’t sure how taking a day off would help, but he had to admit the idea of not thinking about History of Magic for longer than twenty minutes in a row sounded nice.

            What else was there to think about? Harry was surviving the rest of his classes fairly well, probably partially due to a summer of doing magic just because he could. Even his Astronomy marks were decent. Which maybe had something to do with him and Malfoy doing their homework at the same times and places by a combination of unspoken agreement and luck.

            The unspoken agreement bit was kind of nice. They had been rooming together for more than two weeks, and Harry felt a creeping desire to learn more about Malfoy. Yes, they knew each other well already, but the normal things friends seemed to know about each other were kind of lacking in their relationship. Combining ‘Malfoy’ and ‘relationship’ in such close proximity was doing strange things to his thoughts.

            He hadn’t been especially bothered when he and Ginny had broken up; they were rarely great together, and they had been much better at the easy friendship thing than they ever were at dating. Most of his summer was spent trying to mentally process everything that had happened, so dating wasn’t really a good idea then. Any thoughts he did spare about it included reminders of some of the unpleasant experiences he’d had in the past (Cedric, Romilda, Cho, etc.), and those weren’t exactly encouraging.

            And there’d been that. Not that he understood at the time that at least a fraction of his feelings toward Cedric had been confused bisexual ones. Harry hadn’t actually had time to think through any of it until some of the long silent hours in the tent with Hermione, and then it wasn’t like he had the opportunity to do anything about them.

            He hadn’t wanted to. It hadn’t seemed to matter. Until right now.

            He and Draco hadn’t made it past the earliest stages of getting to know each other in any average sense. Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they sort of already did. Which meant they were friends already. If that made sense.

            It made enough sense to Harry for him to know that if he entertained the idea of liking Draco he would also be allowing for the possibility that he was going to fuck it all up.

            Right. So that was off the table.

            Even if the thought of walking Draco to class every day made him smile and think ‘don’t you fucking dare I hate myself’ both at once.

            “I don’t think he’s thinking about History of Magic.”

            Shit. “I’m not,” Harry said, redirecting his attention to his friends. Well. The ones at the Gryffindor table, anyway. The ones he wasn’t considering in misguided romantic terms.

            “What were you thinking about, then? Anything interesting?”

            Harry took in Ron’s innocent expression, and Hermione’s poorly-hidden curiosity, and said, “If it gets interesting I’ll let you know.”

 

            Harry was not looking forward to the late Astronomy class on Wednesday, mostly because he was certain he would doze off halfway through. The anxiety of upsetting a professor, especially one who had allowed him to join a NEWT class sans-qualifications, would likely not be enough to outweigh the drowsiness that settled in every time he tried to concentrate. It had been three days since Harry had gotten a reasonable night’s sleep, and he only seemed to be able to get tired bang in the middle of class.

            Luckily, he managed to keep his eyes open for the duration of Astronomy. As expected, the exhaustion began to wear off the second he and Malfoy headed towards their rooms. Brilliant, thought Harry. Just what I wanted.

            But then, he had expected to lose all semblance of calm the second he stepped into his bedroom. He expected the feeling of persistent unease that had started the moment he’d remembered on Sunday night that he would be hearing back from the governors the next day. He expected the panic to continue well into the week, mounting with each day his History of Magic OWL deadline approached. Professor Binns was letting him sit the exam during class on Friday. Harry expected his sleeplessness to last at least until then, and probably for at least a few days after.

            Harry did not expect Malfoy to appear at his door fifteen minutes after he climbed vainly into bed post-Astronomy, temporarily silencing his anxious thoughts and replacing them with confused ones. “Malfoy?”

            “It’s been three nights, Potter.”

            “Yeah, and?” Harry stared at him.

            “You can’t go three nights without sleeping.”

            “I’ve just done it. If you’re here to stop me going for a fourth, I regret to inform you that you’re not very likely to succeed.” Harry forced himself to ignore what Malfoy might have in mind for the resolution of a sleepless night. Would’ve been bad for his weakening friend-feelings-only resolve. Sleep deprivation at work again.

            Malfoy settled on the floor at the foot of his bed. “I’m going to sit here until you fall asleep.”

            Ah. Reassuring, if unprecedented. “Seriously?”

            “Seriously. You nearly blew up Honeycutt’s classroom today.”

            “I would’ve cast a shield charm in time.” Which Harry knew was bollocks, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

            Malfoy’s disbelieving snort indicated he saw right through him.

            But Harry supposed that was usually what he did. Even if he hadn’t been nearly so subtle about it in their younger years. “Fine, then. _You_ would’ve cast a shield charm in time.”

            “What makes you think I would’ve cast a shield charm?”

            “You were paying attention and an explosion would’ve ruined your potion.”

            “Good point.”

            “It was perfect.” Harry wasn’t sure why he said it. Seemed like a good idea. Or just slipped out. That was more likely for him.

            “Good thing Professor Honeycutt was paying attention, either way.” Draco’s voice was softer.

            The exhaustion of the past few days was finally sinking in. Harry yawned. “You’re going to get an O on your NEWT.”

            “Go to sleep, Potter.”

            Harry wondered why on earth Draco was telling him to go to sleep when he was complimenting the git, and then he thought maybe he wasn’t really a git and drifted off to sleep.

 

            “You missed Herbology.”

            Harry didn’t open his eyes. “How would you know? You take Runes. And I'm hopefully dropping it soon, anyway.”

            Malfoy laughed hollowly. “Get up. You’re going to miss lunch.”

            “I can just go down to the kitchens later.”

            “During Transfiguration?”

            “Tell McGonagall I’m ill.”

            “And do you another favor?”

            Harry begrudgingly opened his eyes. He supposed Malfoy had a point. He had helped him get to sleep. And woken him up. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

            Malfoy stared from the doorway. After what felt like too long, he said, “Tired of hearing you pacing.”

            Harry summoned every ounce of sincerity he could and said, “Thank you.”

            Malfoy stood there for a second longer, staring, and then disappeared.

            Harry ignored the twist of uncertainty in his midsection at that and obligingly threw off the covers.

            Thursday passed too quickly, but Professor McGonagall didn’t scold him for paging through a not-Transfiguration book under the table during class, and Ron and Hermione didn’t try to divert his attention all day except to wish him luck at the end of dinner. Harry managed not to get stopped by anyone all the way back to his rooms, and he collapsed onto the sofa still holding the book he’d been reviewing for hours.

            “You look like Longbottom before the Herbology OWL.”

            Harry jumped but managed not to drop his book.

            “A Concise Summary of Magical History from 300 B.C. to Present?”

            “This was written in 400. I pick things up fine after the Medieval Era, but everything before that’s…” Harry shook his head.

            “I think they care more about things after 1000.”

            “Don’t say that. I’ve been reading and rereading this for over a week.”

            “Oh, they care about things before that as well.” Draco flopped down on the sofa a foot or so to Harry’s left. “I just meant it’s 60-40 favoring recent times. At least from what I can remember of the OWL.”

            Harry shut the book with his finger holding his place and used his free hand to rub his eyes under his glasses. “Why d’you think that is?”

            Draco shrugged. “I heard they focus more on the earlier stuff for NEWT years because it’s more important.”

            “Why am I doing this.” It wasn’t a question because Harry didn’t think there would ever be a logical answer.

            “Because Binns covers so much in a single class that the things useful to your house elf liberation career will probably come up in class at some point?”

            “No.” Harry pulled his finger from the book, wincing at the thought of having to find his place again, and threw it on the rug. “I meant why am I doing my OWL at all? I’m Harry Potter. I could probably walk out of school tomorrow and raise a million galleons to free the house elves.”

            For a moment Draco didn’t say anything. Then Harry looked up, and Draco said, “You’re doing it because you don’t want to do things halfway. You don’t want to fall back on your fame to accomplish what you want to accomplish.”

            Harry shut his eyes and leaned his head back. “Life would be easier if I had no integrity.”

            “You don’t have _that_ much integrity,” Draco offered.

            “Thanks. That makes me feel better about skimming my way to an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on my OWL.”

            They sat in silence for a while, the warm weight of Draco next to him tangible despite the inches of space. Then Draco said, “I’m going to bed,” and rose, and Harry felt the loss with a sigh.

            “Night.”

            “Goodnight.”

            Draco left his door open all night.

            The next day Harry took his OWL.

 

            October came faster than Harry'd thought possible, bringing with it sheets of drenching rain that made it difficult to set foot outside the castle for more than a few seconds, let alone go for a fly, without risking serious illness. Malfoy didn’t seem to be enjoying the weather any more than Harry did; they came in from Astronomy dripping wet and shivering. Apparently umbrella charms interfered with telescopes.

            Harry had spent the first few days after the exam in calm relief, but quickly enough the anxiety returned in the form of unending impatience. He went to the Owelry once a day from Tuesday to Friday. Talking to owls didn’t really get his mind of the exam, though, and it was not at all helpful for the restless energy. What he needed was a good fly. The type made impossible by the buckets of water being dumped from the air.

            So he ended up wandering around the castle more than he had in a while. Harry had learned some of the corridors well over the years; others were different each time he passed them, or, in the case of places he’d never been, completely unfamiliar. He had spent enough time studying the Marauder’s Map to have a general idea of the castle layout, but walking through it was another thing. A few times he got properly lost and had to find himself on the Map to get somewhere recognizable again. Even those times, though, when the thrill of discovering new parts of the castle thrummed through him like it hadn’t in years, he missed the feeling of space and air around him.

            Draco, or Malfoy, or whatever the hell Harry was calling him- friend-with-slight-potential-for-doomed-romantic-interest, maybe- also seemed to be suffering from their inability to go outside. He took to pacing around the sitting room evenings and replying with a sharp “nothing” whenever Harry asked what was wrong. It didn’t help that they seemed to have hit a wall in the slow increase in sharing; whatever had happened at the end of last week, Harry didn’t get the impression Malfoy wanted to impart it with any particular meaning. Neither of them had said anything about it, and Harry’s admittedly limited attempts to repay Malfoy were met with no more receptiveness his expressions of concern.

            On a brighter note, Hermione had heard good news about her parents and was going to visit them in the Australian wizarding hospital over the holidays. Ron had offered to go as soon as she’d told him. After telling Harry they’d looked at him tentatively, like they would let him come if he wanted to- which he might have a year ago- but at that point it felt more like an intrusion than an act of support, so he’d said something about visiting the Weasleys and Teddy and Andromeda and finally having tea with Hagrid again and they’d smiled a little like they were perfectly alright with that, too.

            “Mum might need to fill seats. I heard Bill and Fleur were considering going to the Delacours’ place this year.”

            “They’d better not,” Hermione said. “Why doesn’t your mum just invite them all to the Burrow?”

            Ron’s eyes lit up. “That’s a fantastic idea!”

            “Harry can send her an owl later today.”

            “What?”

            Hermione blinked. “You can’t think we haven’t realized that’s where you’ve been going?”

            Harry sighed obligingly. “Was it deductive reasoning, or did you get ahold of the Map somehow?”

            “Deductive reasoning. We would’ve had a hard time sneaking in, anyway, with all the time the two of you spend in that sitting room.”

            Before Harry could open his mouth, Ron said, “Hermione!”

            “What?”

            He looked at her significantly, like he was- Oh, Merlin, Harry thought.

            “No,” he said firmly.

            Both Ron and Hermione looked at him with innocent confusion.

            “ _Nothing’s going on_.”

            “Well you know if-” Hermione gasped a little when she cut off, making Harry suspect Ron had kicked her under the table.

            “I thought we were _friends_ , but I think the rain’s been driving him mad lately and we haven’t even spoken in days.” Harry hoped the enunciation would distract them from the disappointment that was maybe a little too audible in his voice.

            Knowing Hermione, it didn’t, but she at least went along with it. “You haven’t had a fight without realizing it, have you? Sometimes fourth or fifth year I’d make Ron pretty upset without actually knowing what I’d said.”

            “I did that more than you did,” Ron said. “And if that’s why Harry and Malfoy aren’t talking, I doubt it’ll get resolved until Malfoy gets frustrated enough to say something.”

            “Was that what I did with you?”

            “Yes,” Harry and Ron said simultaneously.

            “Hm. He probably reacts differently based on the type of friendship you have.”

            Harry shoved his hands up under his glasses to rub his eyes, but gave in to Hermione’s poorly-veiled curiosity. “Mostly we just insult each other a lot and talk about homework.” That was safe. True. It was true. Well. Harry decided he didn’t have to disclose everything- hell, he hadn’t been up until that point, not anywhere near it- he’d been responding to Ron and Hermione’s inquiries before then by saying things were fine and reaffirming that they didn’t want to kill each other anymore. “It was pretty much like we didn’t have a problem with each other- which we don’t- until the stupid rain started driving the both of us mad.”

            “Do you think maybe-” Another kick under the table, which Harry could hear because Ron’s foot banged against the bench.

            “Ron?”

            “Mate?”

            “Do you mind telling me why you keep stopping Hermione from talking?”

            “Well.” Ron suddenly looked spectacularly uncomfortable. “It’s- I mean, you seem to want to spend more time on your own this year- or with Malfoy- and there’s not a problem wi-”

            “Not you, too. Not you, Ron. I’ve already overheard his friends taunting him about it in the hallways. I don’t need the two of you-”

            “We’re not!”

            “Absolutely not, mate!”

            “We just meant that if you- Ron, would you _stop it_?”

            “Sorry.”

            “I’m not-” Harry took a deep breath and lowered his voice, casting a muffling charm for good measure. “I’m not dating him, I’m not trying to date him-” yeah, that was definitely sounding more like a lie out loud “- and while I appreciate your undying support for me I feel I should remind you that I’ve been glued to a miniature History of Magic library for weeks.”

            They looked chagrined enough to believe him, which- fuck. Harry should believe himself. He did not want to date Draco Malfoy. At all.

            Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop lying to yourself, Harry. We all know you won't, but it still hurts.
> 
> Spoiler alert the angst will continue for a while longer.


	8. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco helps Harry again. Making a habit of it.

            The Halloween spirit took full hold of the castle. Maybe it was something to do with House Unity or having extra students around who knew how much of a luxury it was to be able to celebrate, but, whatever it was, Draco wasn’t complaining. He had always enjoyed the Halloween festivities (not often being around for the Christmas ones), and two weeks away the castle was buzzing and half-decked in stasis-spelled jack o’lanterns and garishly colored garlands.

            “Think McGonagall did this?” Harry asked absentmindedly on their way to a morning double Charms lesson.

            “Who else? You think someone would be brave enough to do it if she didn’t approve?”

            Harry shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much a danger of her not approving. As long as someone cleans it up. And that someone is not an angry overworked Filch.”

            “There’s something new out every night, isn’t there?”

            “From what I’ve noticed. That pumpkin wasn’t there yesterday,” Harry said, nodding towards one as they passed it.

            “So whoever’s doing this either wants it to get more elaborate every day, or they don’t have time to do it all in one go…” Draco cocked his head to the side. “Are there any professors who have more motivation? Or is a student risking getting caught out of bed to do it?”

            “There are a couple of new professors. Honeycutt may be strict, but she’s an enigma. Could be the DADA professor. Ainsley.”

            Draco shook his head. “I don’t think it’s him.”

            Harry smirked. “You don’t have class with him.”

            “What exactly do you mean by that? Does he make bad jokes, or is it a Lockhart situation?”

            “I wouldn’t say it’s either one of those as much as them combined with the Lovegood family temperament.”

            Draco opened his mouth to reply (with incredulity, of course- he’d met more than one Lovegood) but was brought up short by the appearance of Granger, who was hailing Harry from just inside the classroom.

            “Which way did you take to class?” she asked curiously.

            “What does that matter?”

            “We were investigating,” Draco said swiftly. At Granger’s skeptical look, he added, “The decorations.”

            Her expression cleared. “I’d been wondering about that. Did you find anything out?”

            “Not yet,” Harry said.

            They were interrupted by the arrival of Professor Flitwick, who ushered them into class and began right away. Apparently one month was plenty long enough for the urgency of NEWTs to sink in. Nonetheless, Harry and Draco kept up their speculation all through the class, aided by the occasional addition of a clue from an interested Ron or Hermione. When the class was dismissed for lunch, Draco was startled to find the Golden Trio throwing themselves into discussion and walking next to him towards the Great Hall as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

            “We know McGonagall cares about this place more than most of us combined, but that still doesn’t explain where she’d find the time to do it between teaching classes, harassing students into considering apprenticeships, and being headmistress,” Weasley argued.

            Granger looked at him doubtfully. “You really don’t think she’s in on it?”

            “I didn’t say she wasn’t in on it, I just think she’s too busy to actually be doing it herself.”

            “Do you think there’s a student other than Potter she’d entrust with such a serious and stealth-requiring task?” asked Draco. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had a feeling it’d be better to go along with it than disrupt the unexpected peace.

            “Harry’s not that good at stealth,” Weasley said.

            Harry glared at him.

            “What? You almost knocked over an entire trophy case that one time third year-”

            “I’ve been following this one around for years,” Harry inclined his head towards Draco as if low-level stalking counted as decent evidence, then waved a sweeping gesture around the corridor. “Not to mention all the times I’ve snuck out to check on illegally brewed Polyjuice potion or stay in the library after hours for ridiculous Triwizard tasks or visit Hagrid against the wishes of teachers and headmasters.”

            “We need to visit him more often,” Granger said. “I wanted to go Friday if I had time.”

            “I’ll come with,” Weasley chimed.

            Harry shot a look at Draco and grimaced. “I can only come if I bring my Astronomy notes. It was strongly suggested that there will be a pop quiz that night.”

            “Do you think Hagrid’s done it, then?” asked Weasley, returning them to their previous topic.

            “I don’t think he makes it a habit of sneaking around the castle at night,” Harry said, something edging his voice that interested and concerned Draco. Fucking protective-

            “He’d just do it during the day if it were him,” Hermione said. “What about Honeycutt?”

            “She’s too much of a mystery,” Draco said. “There’s no way of knowing it’s her unless she announces it. She may not be subtle in class, but I have a feeling we’d only know it was her if she wanted us to know.” He shot a glance up at the staff table, realizing they were already in the Great Hall. And that the Golden Trio was _following him to the Slytherin table_.

            “I don’t know if she’d do something like that so soon in her time teaching,” Hermione said, swinging her bag down and sitting on the bench adjacent to Blaise.

            Adjacent to Blaise. Draco shook himself slightly and sat down across from her. In between Blaise and Harry. It was only the second time he’d sat there, and the first he was actually eating there. Granted they stayed.

            It looked like they were. Weasley had set his bag down as well and was looking only a little uncomfortable. “Who does that leave? Ainsley doesn’t have the guts-”

            “I don’t know,” Harry argued. He looked. Really comfortable. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Have you overheard some of the stories he tells? It sounds like he actually did some of the things Lockhart pretended to do. That’s got to take guts. Or recklessness and luck, but you know that’s pretty much as good.”

            Weasley grinned. “I should hope so. D’you think he knows the castle well enough?”

            Blaise leaned into Draco. “What are we discussing?”

            “Who’s decorating the corridors.”

            “Ah.” Blaise settled into a slouch and started serving himself. “It’s definitely Professor Sato.”

            The Gryffindor delegation fell silent and stared at him.

            “What? It’s absolutely her.”

            “How can you be certain?” Granger said, the challenging tone in her voice exactly the type Draco knew would rile Blaise up if she wasn’t careful. Or if she was careful. Blaise had a way of getting worked up about things whether people liked it or not.

            “Because she’s sensitive to the collective mood of the students and much more mischievous than she lets on.”

            “She’s new, too, though.” Granger frowned.

            “Doesn’t mean as much as you think it does, that. Hogwarts has a way of making people feel welcome.” Was that a general statement, wondered Draco, or something loosely connected to the fact that House Unity was working (which it clearly was because Ron Weasley was sitting at the goddamned Slytherin table and he didn’t even look all that ruffled about it)?

            The conversation continued, speculations multiplying with the arrival of Pansy and Serena from what Draco suspected was a regular Charms-debate-slash-snogging-session. Even Theo chimed in every now and then. Once Draco’d gotten over the feeling that he was dreaming or hallucinating, he noticed that the strange looks they were getting were not nearly as frequent as he would have thought. Jumbled house tables and a few words of encouragement from the headmistress couldn’t be enough to stave off actual harassment. But apparently they could. Either that or the Trio was working some unseen authority on the other students; follow our example and get used to it or maybe it’s about time we participated in this great unifying thing that everyone’s doing.

            Harry smiled at Draco just as often as he did otherwise (maybe a little more often, with his friends’ less-serious influence), so, even if he was hallucinating, it was alright with Draco.

 

            “Potter.”

            “What?” he didn’t sound like he was listening. The pacing can’t have helped. He had been pacing the sitting room for an absurd amount of time. They had barely made it in from Friday Astronomy when he started, back and forth and back and forth not saying a word. It wasn’t the first time Draco had tried to get his attention.

            And it damn well wasn’t going to be the last. “Potter!”

            He stopped and looked that time.

            “You need to calm down.”

            He resumed his pacing. “Can’t.”

            “Of course you can.” Draco felt a twinge of uncertainty at those words. Alright as everything had seemed earlier in the week, the continual rain and anxiety of the impending return of his OWL result had finally gotten to Harry. The necessity of staying inside was getting to both of them, actually, but Draco was better at rebuffing Potter’s efforts to help than Potter was at rebuffing Draco. Or so he would be, hopefully, if he stopped moving for another second and actually fucking listened for long enough to brush off Draco's concern.

            Harry smiled apologetically. “I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.”

            “I hardly think that’s true.”

            Harry laughed, but didn’t respond.

            “Oh, for Merlin’s-” Draco reached out and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to a halt. Draco moved his hand out to grip his other shoulder, holding Potter firmly in place. Draco determinedly ignored the fact that this was the most deliberate touching either of them had ever done and the fact that Potter seemed perfectly relaxed despite the ever-so-slight widening of his eyes. After a deep breath he said, “You have to stop.”

            “I. Can’t.”

            “Right.” Draco released him and spun to face his bedroom door. “Get your broom.”

            “It’s pouring.”

            “I know, but you haven’t flown in a week, and clearly that hasn’t helped.”

            A glint crept into Harry’s expression, but he didn’t look convinced. “We’ll be drenched in five minutes.”

            “So?” Draco infused his tone with as much challenge as he dared. No need to make Potter too enthusiastic and land them both in the hospital wing after doing something stupider than Draco was already planning. Good enough chance they’d end up ill regardless, but at that point it was worth it.

            A slow grin spread across Harry’s face. “Right. I’ll get my broom.”

            Ten minutes later, the two of them were striding out onto the lawn. Despite the layers of warming charms, water-repelling charms, and clothes, including a properly waterproof jacket, Draco could feel the water slipping up underneath his sleeves before they’d kicked off.

            When they did, though, the exhilaration of being in the air again, and feeling space stretching out around him (even if the rain was filling it up) felt so good that he barely noticed his hands freezing from forgetting to bring gloves.

            Potter’s face, in the moments he saw it before the darkness and the downpour obscured it completely, conveyed some of the same feeling. Thank fuck. Draco hadn’t been looking forward to another sleepless night (whether or not that had anything to do with Potter), and he didn’t doubt Potter would also be better off for the time spent flying.

            By some unspoken agreement, they flew near each other. Draco didn’t want to lose track of him in the gloom, and he had a feeling Harry didn’t fancy the idea of not knowing where Draco was, either. The most they could do was loop around the pitch and keep hold of their broom handles, but Draco didn’t mind. There was something breathtaking about the absurdity of being out in rain so heavy they were swimming more than flying, and he’d forgotten how nice it was to fly with another person.

            Even if it was Potter, his mind added, but he was losing his ability to think of him in negative terms and he rather liked it.

            It took them a good twenty minutes to start feeling too soaked and tired to want to stay in the air. Draco reached out and found Harry’s forearm and tugged, and they both descended, bracing against the wind to keep from falling too fast. The wind was too loud to say much of anything, so they were silent as they slipped and slid through drenched grass back up to the castle and into the entrance hall.

            Once inside, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm again and cast a series of cleaning, warming, and drying charms on them both before releasing him.

            “Thanks,” Harry said as they started back up to their rooms. “You’re good at that.”

            Draco shrugged. “I go outside a lot, and sometimes the heaters…” he trailed off because Harry was looking at him strangely. Draco resisted the urge to ask.

            The look flashed away as quickly as it had appeared, and Harry was back to normal, or still-windblown, just-been-flying, blissfully beautiful (and definitely unaware of it), eyes-lighting-a-little-even-though-he-was-talking-to-Draco normal. The last part was relatively new and still scared the shit out of him. Harry said, “I’ve noticed. And our room heaters do seem a little outdated.”

            “So stay in the sitting room and warm up with me.”

            “What?” Harry was staring at him like he was making no sense again.

            “I’ll make tea. I think I saw a kettle in there somewhere, and I don’t much fancy a shower at the moment, even a warm one.”

            “I… Alright.”

            They didn’t talk for the rest of the walk, which gave Draco ample time to go over his word choice and wonder how it had been received. He was doing the nonchalant, don’t be ridiculous Potter attitude thing again and not at all still thinking about whatever had flashed in Harry’s eyes. Definitely wasn’t thinking about that.

            And Harry seemed alright. Or good. Or better than good, but Draco daren’t add that to his repertoire of unwise thoughts just then.

            The painting swung forward to admit them, and Draco went over to the little cabinet nestled under the left-side window and procured a kettle and two mugs. He went to the bathroom, filled it, and hung it to boil. Harry had gone into his room and actually closed the door (he only did that when he was changing), so Draco went to get in his own pajamas (his warmest) and grab his favorite blanket and two of the tea bags he’d brought from home. When he returned, the water was getting on nicely and Harry was curled up in front of the fire in a similar-looking blanket, this one red instead of green.

            Draco went to sit near the fire as well, pulling his blanket round his shoulders like Harry had. For a few moments they just sat and stared at the fire.

            Then Harry looked up. “You used the sink.”

            “That is generally where water comes from.”

            “No, I mean- instead of magic.”

            Draco didn’t know how exactly he felt about that observation. On one hand, of course he’d used the fucking sink, he always used the sink. On the other, Harry sort of had a point. So Draco shrugged. “Habit. And water tastes different when you summon it.”

            Harry nodded, grimacing a little. “I always wonder where it comes from.”

            “Rusty old bathroom pipes are far preferable to questionably-purified atmospheric water.”

            Harry laughed. “I like the pipes. Or the taste of the water here. The water in London tastes too… civilized.”

            Draco stared for a second. “Civilized?”

            “You know what I mean. Processed, or added to, or whatever. One too many filters. I prefer my water a little more rustic.”

            Draco had to search his mind for the response that inspired, a half-remembered sarcastic phrase he’d heard Snape use seriously maybe once or twice. “You like your water to have character?”

            “Yeah. Character.”

            “I think the Manor’s fed with an underground spring or something. I’ve never really thought about it. I guess I trust my ancestors wouldn’t settle for the substandard taste of a traditional well.”

            “You’ve noticed that, too?”

            “That well water tastes like dirt? Yes, I believe I’ve noticed.”

            “I guess I’m just surprised you drink unpurified water. I thought Malfoys were more refined.”

            “More refined my… Wait.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “Has it occurred to you that we’ve just spent a half an hour dripping wet and freezing and all we can think to talk about is water?”

            “You have a point. But what else are we going to talk about, then?”

            The staring that ensued was more intense than Draco thought it would be. Because it looked like Harry actually wanted to talk, or wasn’t opposed to it, like he was asking Draco, but really Draco should be the one asking him because most of his secrets had been laid out (if embellished) in the papers already and he knew which few secrets he would likely never part with, even for the closest people in his life, and even if Harry was getting closer he hardly thought they were near that yet.

            Yet.

            Fuck.

            Draco broke eye contact and tried to force the thoughts back. “If you want to talk about the war, I’m not going to stop you.”

            “I don’t think there’s much else to say about it.”

            That got Draco looking back at him. At his open expression, how he believed it (and how could he not, he was fucking Harry Potter, most honest of all Golden Boys, integrity sound enough to save the life of a sworn enemy at risk to his own).

            “I mean,” Harry continued, when it was clear Draco wasn’t going to say anything, “What are we going to say? Either of us? I’d probably just apologize again and talk about how shit it was that so many people had to die, and then I’d apologize again about how badly your lot were treated for the first month or so- and probably still are, most places but here, not that here’s the greatest- especially considering you didn’t have much of a choice but to inherit everything, and then I’d say something about how I inherited a surprising amount of it considering I’ve got no parents and try to fend off whatever comment you would make- or your silence, maybe, since I think you’re a bit past the petty prat thing- and then we’d both go to bed having not gotten anywhere.”

            It was too much to process in a split second, but one thing stuck out strongly enough for Draco to have an answer. “You want to get somewhere?”

            “Not- no- I mean, I don’t know. You offered to talk about the war.” As if that explained Harry’s sudden desire to open up to him. Well. It maybe did a little, but-

            “I did.”

            “Do you? Want to talk about it?”

            “No.”

            “Then why’d you offer?”

            “Because you’ve been surprising me more than usual tonight and I didn’t know what else to fucking say.”

            “Draco Malfoy didn’t know what to say?”

            “Maybe I did. I mean. I.” Draco summoned his confidence (which had long since fled in light of those stupid fucking green eyes) and said, “I asked because I wouldn’t mind. Getting somewhere. I mean we’ve just flown and not crashed into each other on purpose.”

            Harry looked like he understood that, somehow. After a thoughtful pause, he said (voice sad and quiet), “You think we need to talk about the war to get somewhere?”

            “Not necessarily. I was just thinking we’d probably have to talk about it eventually, and trying to think of something better to suggest and realizing there wasn’t anything. If I wanted to get somewhere.” He didn’t know why he kept repeating that phrase. It wasn’t even a good one. It was vague and confusing and kind of impossible to extrapolate meaning from, like their friendship, or whatever the fuck this was, right now, so maybe, Draco thought, that was an apt way to summarize what he was trying to do.

            Extend the olive branch after being chillier than usual the past couple weeks.

            Talking about the war, it seemed, was not an appropriate olive branch. “We don’t have to talk about it ever. I know that’s unlikely. But if you don’t want to I’m not going to insist we need it to move forward. I don’t think that’s really how this has worked, for us, these past few weeks. Or month. Or however long.”

            “More to do with the fact that it doesn’t matter and that it’d be stupid to pretend it does?” Draco suggested.

            “Exactly. If one could say the war didn’t matter and have it be okay. In any context.”

            “I’m sorry,” Draco said immediately.

            “No.” Harry looked frustrated. “I agree with you. I don’t think it wasn’t awful and I don’t think it’s not important to talk about it, but I do think the way people talk about it most of the time doesn’t mean anything and just exhausts the conversation before anyone gets to the important parts. Like how we can’t let it happen again. Or how it affected people. What happened after.”

            “People don’t seem to care how mentally stable former Death Eaters ended up.” Draco made eye contact again and realized- “But you probably get the same thing. If disguised by shallow concern and hero-worship.”

            Harry looked taken aback. “Yeah.”

            They stared into the fire some more.

            Then Harry spoke again. "I went to all the funerals and came back to Grimmauld Place and fucked off the face of the earth for a few months. The Ministry was a mess, so it's not like I could have done much there even if I wanted to. I needed to- to remember what it was like to exist. Without-" Harry paused. "Well, I guess it's more like learning how to exist afterwards."

            Draco smiled, not caring how awful of a time it was for it and thinking maybe it was appropriate anyway, and said, "Me, too. That's what I did. Almost exactly." Because he hadn't really known how to exist, either, and Death Eaters still had funerals. “Once we’d got the Manor inhabitable again, and that took a remarkably short amount of time thanks to my mother, I just- I did the same thing. Fucked off the face of the earth and… waited for it to stop.” He didn’t need to explain it.

            He could tell by the rueful, expectant look Harry gave him. “Has it?”

            Draco stared at him for a second, not-quite-challenging. “Has it for you?”

            Harry glanced away. “I think the History of Magic’s sort of drowned it out a little.”

            Draco caught the thin thread of lightness in the sarcasm and pulled. “Did the rain help?”

            “Loads. Think it’s nearly gone now.”

            They sat in silence (but for the rain pounding on the windows, because that wasn't what was nearly gone, far from it), staring at opposite walls until Draco said, “No one’s ever said.”

            Harry looked around. “Said what?”

            “No one’s ever admitted they don’t know what to do. Or that it hurts. And it keeps hurting and isn’t really showing signs of letting up. No one ever says a word. They just…” he waved a hand.

            Harry smiled, brightness and bitterness lighting up his eyes at once. “Pretend it’s already over?”

            “Yeah. I think that’s it.”

            “It’s easier.”

            “They should have learned.”

            Harry blinked.

            “From the first time. They should have learned. They didn’t. They didn’t believe it could happen again and Merlin fucking forbid it does, they’ll-”

            An odd sort of determination came into Harry’s eyes at that. “We won’t let it. We won't forget. I know what I said earlier, but- the older ones, maybe. Us? No.”

            Draco wanted to believe him. Badly. But he didn’t know if he could.

            “Never.” Harry held his eyes with a look so steady Draco forgot everything and did believe him.

            If only for a second. “Never,” Draco agreed.

            A minute later Harry shifted on the rug and banged into him. Draco rebounded with a shove of his own. The kettle finally came to a boil, and the companionable silence that had settled in felt like it had blossomed into a better version of itself.

            Neither of them could keep from smiling.


	9. Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Parabola of Mystery does some sleuthing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red vs. Blue reference popped into my head when I was writing this chapter so s/o to Rooster Teeth for naming something for me.

            Harry got his OWL results back on Monday.

            He’d gotten an E.

            When he set the parchment down next to his plate, feeling dazed, he met Ron and Hermione’s anxious expressions with a blink. And smiling. He was probably smiling a little, though not- he was still sort of in shock. “I passed.”

            Both of them whooped, and Hermione gave him the ‘I told you you could do it’ look she gave to him and Ron sometimes when they accomplished something.

            A second later Harry was startled by the sound of Malfoy’s voice behind him. “Well?”

            Harry turned. “Got an E.”

            “Of course you did. You’re you,” Malfoy said, and walked off.

            Hermione stared after him thoughtfully. Ron snorted and said, “I’d say he had a point, but you’ve had a book in your hand nonstop since you knew you’d have to sit the exam. This one’s all you, mate.”

            “So, you’ve made up, then?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

            “I suppose. We went flying the other night-” shit he hadn’t needed to say that “- and…” Harry shrugged.

            “You went flying in that?” Hermione inclined her head towards the window behind her, through which it was still raining. Hard.

            “I was waiting to hear back about this. I was a mess. And, like I said, I don’t think sulking around our sitting room was doing him much good.”

            “And this was your idea?” asked Hermione.

            “No. Wish it had been. I’d’ve done it sooner. And we were only out for twenty minutes,” he added, because Ron was looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

            “I suppose that’s reasonable,” Hermione said.

            “Yeah.” Ron snagged another piece of toast and gave Harry a level look. “It makes sense now. Why you’re friends.”

            Harry hoped his exasperated expectant look was enough to convey to Ron that he already knew whatever he was going to say was ridiculous.

            “You’re both out of your gourds.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione laughed shortly. “I suppose you have a point. Not about the insanity, but about the fact that they seem to be incomprehensible in similar ways.”

            Harry stared at her. “Really?”

            “Really.”

            “Yeah,” Ron said. “That would explain why you’ve been fighting for so many years.”

            “And it would explain why you haven’t fought all this year.”

            Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then he realized that they actually had a point. Always at odds when they had something to fight about because they were both too stubborn and combative to let anything go, anger dwindled down to nothing once the war that had caused it was over. And they _had_ both thought it was a good idea to go flying in the middle of the night when it was pouring.

            “What are we going to do to celebrate your OWL?” asked Ron.

            “Er…” Harry was taken aback by the question as much as the sudden change of subject. Which he appreciated either way.

            “Party in the Gryffindor common room?” Hermione suggested.

            “Not tonight,” Harry said. “I’m not going to my first official History of Magic NEWT lesson hungover.”

            “You could just not drink.” She caught sight of Harry and Ron’s ‘you really think there won’t be firewhisky in Gryffindor’ expressions and sighed. “Just because there’s a means of getting pissed doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

            “Peer pressure’ll be too strong,” Ron said wisely.

            “Yeah. I don’t much fancy the idea of being the only person not fucked up, given I’m the one who’s supposed to be celebrating.” Harry considered the rest of his week and frowned. Because of Astronomy, his only real weekend day was Saturday night, but that was sometimes his only chance to get sleep. Sleep actually sounded nice. A party sounded like- well, honestly, like more than he was in the mood to handle at the moment. Harry would just be happy with a few free hours sprawling on a common room rug talking about nothing. “Maybe we shouldn’t have a party.”

            “We have to do something,” Ron insisted.

            "I know!" Hermione's eyes lit up. "We can solve the Halloween decorations mystery!"

            Harry was actually pretty intrigued by that. It presented a few problems, but, then again- "How are we going to get around without the cloak?"

            "Hmm..." Hermione frowned. None of the three of them was good enough at Disillusionment charms to sneak around that way, and it had been years since they could all fit under the cloak. "Do you think we'd be able to use just the Map if we were careful?"

            "We'd still need silencing charms to be safe..." Ron trailed off thoughtfully. "That might work, but we would need to have a proper escape plan in case we needed one."

            "Do you think we could stake out the parts of the castle that haven't been decorated yet, but pick places with built-in escape routes?" suggested Hermione.

            "Maybe." Ron didn't elaborate, though, and they spent a few minutes thinking before Hermione spoke again.

            "You should invite Malfoy."

            Fun stares from Harry and Ron.

            "Don't look at me like that. He and Harry are friends, and they seemed to have a lead trying to solve this mystery. Four isn't much difference in risk from three, and he can bring whatever Slytherin wisdom he and his friends have come up with."

            "Hm." Ron looked thoughtful again. "I reckon you'd better invite him, Harry."

            What a morning it was turning out to be. "Really? Nostalgic night sneaking around the corridors and you want me to invite the only person who's ever properly turned us in?"

            "He's got the mind for this sort of thing, you wouldn't be talking about it so much last week if he didn't," Ron reasoned.

            "I thought you two were the embodiment of House Unity," added Hermione. "Water under the bridge, the past is the past, let bygones be-"

            "Alright. I'll invite him!" Harry wasn't sure what exactly the two of them were trying to do, but he knew better than to go up against the both of them at once. And, besides, the idea of traipsing around the castle at night with the two of them and Malfoy in tow didn't sound that bad.

            "When should we go? Tonight?" asked Hermione hopefully.

            "Being extra-exhausted at my first real History of Magic class in years doesn't sound much better than being hungover."

            "Right. I suppose we should try and study the decorations more before going, anyway."

            "Thursday?" Ron suggested. "There's no late Astronomy class that night, so no one'll be out past midnight."

            Hermione looked at him. "How do you know that?"

            Ron shrugged. "I hear things. And am trying to pay attention to them. Auror training, yeah?"

            Harry and Hermione exchanged a skeptical, is-this-really-Ron look, and Harry turned back to Ron. "I'll ask him about it later."

            Later turned out to be a few minutes after Potions class. Malfoy came up from behind him- again- and said easily, "Has it ever occurred to you that half the things we need to know for NEWTs Snape has been teaching us since second year?"

            Harry glanced over and shrugged.

            "I'm trying to make conversation, Potter."

            "Right. I have a proposal for you."

            Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Do go on."

            "Ron and Hermione want you to come with us Thursday night to investigate the Halloween mystery."

            "Ron and Hermione want me to go with the three of you?" He spoke slowly, like he was making certain he'd heard properly, and his eyebrows were up as high as they could go. Damn, Harry thought. He had phrased it wrong. Or not wrong, it was definitely _accurate_ , just-

             "Yes."

            "Might I ask what inspired this planned excursion?"

            "I decided sleep sounded better than a two-years-late-OWL party, and Hermione suggested we do a bit of sleuthing for old time's sake."

            Draco mercifully didn’t comment on the fact that sneaking around in the middle of the night wasn’t likely to allow him much more sleep than a party would have. "Ah. And am I to assume you weren't the one who suggested I go?"

            Harry avoided the question. "Your skills are desired by the crack team."

            "Other people call you the Golden Trio, and you're going with crack team?"

            "We're good at solving mysteries. Also Golden Trio sounds a little arrogant if we use it to describe ourselves, and, really, it's not a trio if you're there."

            "How about the Silver Quadrangle?"

            Harry just managed to keep a straight face. He didn't have to look to know that Malfoy was wearing a perfectly smooth expression. "Too derivative."

            "What, switching to Slytherin colors doesn't work for you?"

            "Nope."

            "What are we doing, then? Mixing them probably isn't a good option. Unless you go with rose gold or metallic gray-green, obviously, but that's still very house-polarizing."

            "What about purple?"

            "Purple?"

            "Yeah. It's not associated with any house, and I'm sure it'll look equally brilliant on all of us when we make t-shirts."

            "Granger's the only one who'd look good in purple."

            "Depends on the shade. I think Ron'd be fantastic in a hair-clashing lavender- That's off topic, though. Are we going with purple?"

            "It isn't off topic if you're actually serious about instituting a color scheme."

            "I'm not."

            "Fine, then, purple it is." Draco paused for a moment. "What sort of team name goes with purple?"

            "Well, trio's out, and I'm not too fond of quadrangle, either. What kind of words seem purple to you?"

            Harry could hear the incredulity dripping from his words. "What kind of words seem purple to me?"

            "Yes."

            Draco got quiet for a moment. "Mystery sounds purple."

            "Still need a noun."

            "Trapezoid... no, that's awful. Rectangle?"

            Harry was unimpressed. "Eh."

            "We could throw out the shape idea. A trio isn't a shape."

            "I am quickly losing my ability to concentrate on this."

            "How about parabola?"

            Harry turned to stare at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

            Draco flailed his arm around. "Parabola. It's an Arithmancy thing."

            "Like a mathematics shape?"

            "Yeah."

            Harry realized he had been given the opportunity to see Draco Malfoy flail his arms around again, and he wasn't about to let that go underutilized. "What kind of a shape is it?"

            "It's like a... like, it sort of swoops-" Draco drew a sideways 's' in the air.

            "One more time?"

            He got halfway through it before stopping and glaring. "Nice try. And technically the parabola's half of that, anyway, so I've already demonstrated three times."

            “Fine. So, Parabola of Mystery, midnight Thursday. Collect clues until then.” They had reached the Great Hall and were drifting in opposite directions.

            “Right.”

            Harry went to join Neville and two sixth year Hufflepuffs at the Gryffindor table, glad Malfoy had agreed to join in the detective work.

 

            Harry was feeling appropriately psyched Tuesday night, and he passed the time leading up to the mission sprawled out on the sofa pretending to read a History of Magic textbook. It was all quite interesting now that the urgency had lessened somewhat. Not interesting enough to actually concentrate when theories and clues were tumbling around his head, but still.

            Malfoy strolled in at half-past eleven with all the casual nonchalance Harry expected.

            "Been out in the grounds?"

            Malfoy passed a second shooting him a 'how did you know' look, then shrugged. "It's stopped raining." He came over to the sofa and perched on the arm near Harry's feet.

            "Harder to sneak around without the constant noise. D'you think that'll dissuade the rogue decorator?"

            "If they're good enough to have gone this long without being stopped or noticed- save maybe by McGonagall- I don't think something like that would stop them."

            "Any new leads?"

            "I feel like you're wringing me for information so you can take credit for it when they get here."

            "That wouldn't be very cooperative of me."

            Draco sounded skeptical. "Cooperative?"

            "Teamwork. Members of the, er, Parabola of Mystery don't steal each other's ideas."

            "Are we actually going to tell them we're calling it that?" Draco’s eyebrows went higher than they already had been.

            "Only if you own up to the parabola bit."

            "I'd sort of have to. I mean, would they really believe you knew what a parabola was?"

            "I don't know. I am the one who grew up in a muggle house."

            "Would Granger really believe-?"

            "Alright. No. She wouldn't.” Harry smiled in spite of himself.

            “I’m not in the mood for purple, so I suppose we can refer to it only as the Parabola of Mystery in the sanctity of this sitting room.”

            “What if something exciting happens on the quest and I want to make fun of you?”

            “It’s a quest now?”

            Harry shrugged.

            “I guess I wouldn’t mind. Since the purple thing was all you. It would risk the secret terribly, though. Potential of being overheard, and everything.”

            Harry nudged Draco's knee with his foot. “Fine, then. I’ll try to restrain myself.”

            They shared a moment of too-intense eye-contact that Harry knew was much more about what had happened by the fire the week before than about the thought of keeping a secret, though that was part of it, too-

            “How long d’you think it’ll take everyone to get back to their dorms?” Ron’s voice drifted through the painting as he and Hermione came in. Both Harry and Draco’s eyes snapped to look at him.

            “I don’t know,” Draco said. “Depends on whether or not they go directly there. But we’ll have the Map, right?”

            “Right,” Harry said, hastening to his feet and being unable to make eye-contact with anyone. It wasn’t like Ron or Hermione had said anything, and he hardly thought their being on the same sofa was- “I’ll get it.” A second later, he found Hermione leaning on the back of the couch, Malfoy still on the arm.

Ron asked Malfoy, “Did you get any more suggestions from Blaise and them?”

            “Suggestions?”

            “You know, about the mystery.”

            Harry had to hand it to him. Malfoy was quick on his feet. “I was not informed that was part of my job.”

            Ron gave Harry a look.

            “Er…”

            After a slightly withering glance at Harry, Ron said, “Great. Well, it’s good to have some diversity of perspective, anyway. We’ve been missing the obvious for quite a few years. It’ll be nice to have a chance to figure something out before we’ve spent days or weeks skirting the answer. How’s the Map?”

            Harry unfolded it and rotated it a few times, trying to get an idea. “I think we’ll be fine as long as we ignore the pair snogging in the Charms corridor.”

            “Cool. You should probably take point, then.”

            “Right.” Harry made for the door and was quickly followed by Hermione. He would have guessed they’d be walking two by two, but the thought of Ron and Malfoy collaborating hadn’t had enough time to sink in. Maybe Hermione had a better idea of how Ron was thinking?

            At his questioning expression, Hermione said, “We’ll be talking away from them. So Ron won’t hear me telling you that he’s been driving me up the walls lately.”

            “Ah.”

            Ron’s voice made both of them jump. “What are you two muttering about?”

            “Nothing!” They said in unison.

            “Sure. Anyway, Harry, ‘Mione and I were thinking we’d start on this floor, since it doesn’t seem to have many decorations and since it’s out of the way of Mrs. Norris’s regular patrols. Malfoy?”

            “Weasley?”

            “What do you think?”

            “I think that sounds perfectly reasonable and I know a place we can be out of the way in case someone does come by.” Harry almost jumped again when Malfoy’s breath was suddenly over his shoulder. He reached around to point at a spot on the Map. “There,” he said before stepping back to join Ron.

            Harry exhaled.

            Hermione cleared her throat, cast two wordless spells in quick succession, and turned to Harry. “That was a muffling spell and something so Ron won’t be able to tell what it is. Or, he’ll think it’s in front of us and not wrapping around the two of us.”

            “Nice spell, ‘Mione.”

            Harry felt a ripple in the spell as she turned back, smile bright, and said, “Thanks.” The spell folded back around them, and she said to Harry, “He’s been perfect and it’s making me neurotic.”

            "Ah." Ron had definitely seemed more attentive than usual. And of course Hermione would be dealing with it all the time; Harry hadn't exactly been around lately.

            “Ron’s got quite good at everything all of a sudden, and I don’t know how to handle it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice, but I’m so used to chasing after you two cramming books down your throats all the time I just- I don’t know what to _do_ with him.”

            Harry thought back to the day he'd moved out weeks before, and how Ron had been completely supportive and only a bit disappointed. “You know, I think he’s just… grown up.”

            “Ugh. There can’t be two serious people in a relationship. At least one of us needs to slack off once in a while. We didn’t argue once last week. Or we didn't argue properly, anyway. It's like he's finally caught on to what upsets me and is making a conscious effort not to do it.”

            "You know, most people would see that as an improvement."

            Hermione glared at him.

            "I'll study with him or something. Take him off your hands for a few hours."

            "Thank you. He's... he's really attentive, trying not to upset me because of my parents, I think, and I..." she shook her head. "When you two are weeks behind on your homework, at least I have something to distract me."

            "I'll try and get a little behind in something. Maybe give you an excuse to get away from Ron as much as the other way around."

            "That would be nice. If you can convince Ron he doesn't need to be by my side every second."

            "I'll mention it. But that's really something that should be coming from you."

            "I know." Hermione stared down the corridor for a moment. Then she rather abruptly said, “So, what about you and Draco, then?”

            Harry reeled. “What about us?”

            “Are you going to tell him?” She stared him down.

            Finally, Harry said, "I don't even know what's going on with us. We're still _just friends_ -" he ignored Hermione's huff of exasperation "- and I think I'd rather like to keep it that way." Harry's thoughts were contradictory, calling him on his bullshit, but he didn't want to get into it with Hermione. Not then. Not when they were two feet from their destination.

            “‘Courage, friends, and do not yield,’” Hermione said quietly.

            Harry glanced up, smiling. “Is that from ‘Beedle the Bard’?”

            “I did translate it from ancient runes. One gets to know stories quite well when translating them from ancient runes.” She kept on looking at Harry. “You should tell him.” Before he could protest, she lifted the spell and turned to Ron and Malfoy. "Have we arrived?"

            Malfoy nodded. He and Ron, Harry noticed, did not look like they regretted being left to their own devices; in fact, they were both looking tentatively comfortable, like they were surprised by how well they were getting along but didn't want to question it. The four of them settled in to wait for a while. It was the least exciting part of any stakeout. They'd agreed to split up if they found anything promising on the map. Didn't make sense to leave the likeliest target location until then. Harry leaned against the wall, the others in similarly inattentive positions around him- the Map showed no one but them around- and chatted about nothing important while they waited.


	10. Meant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The late-night adventure is concluded. Draco realizes he needs advice.

            After a half hour with no signs of life, Peeves changed directions and was suddenly heading straight for them. Hermione threw up a shielding charm as they sprang to their feet.

            "Where was our second choice?" Harry asked.

            "I thought the basements and Ron thought the east half of the second floor. Both of them seemed equally likely," Hermione said.

            "Basement's close to a common room and the kitchens, so that'll be a higher risk area," Draco said. "Go to the second floor or split up?"

            "Split up," Hermione said quickly. "Ron and I'll take the second floor and you can take the basement."

            Harry shoved the Map at her. "Do you have your DA coin?"

            She smiled. "Of course."

            "Good. I'll let you know if I find anything."

            Already halfway down the corridor at that point, Ron asked, "Meet back here in an hour?"

            Harry and Draco nodded, then set off briskly for the hidden staircase Peeves had used to enter the floor. Hopefully he wouldn't double back.

            They made it down two floors before they slowed. "Well," Draco said a bit breathlessly, "That was exciting." He was trying not to dwell on the fact that his pleasant conversation with Weasley made it all too easy to switch to thinking of him as Ron, because, really, they were Harry's friends, and he was Harry's friend, but that got him thinking about the fact that maybe Draco didn't want to just be his friend and that wasn't helpful at all.

            "I wish I could say it was about to get boring. Unfortunately I'm pretty much a chaos magnet."

            Draco stared. "You? Chaos magnet?"

            Harry looked at him. "Yeah."

            "That might have been true years ago, but for the past few weeks you've been up in the sitting room doing your homework diligently and sneaking off only when there's a low risk of anyone catching you."

            Harry seemed to realize that was true. "Huh."

            Draco limited his response to a self-satisfied smile. Harry didn't say anything else, and he figured it was probably better to be careful and stay quiet, anyway.

            The basement was just as deserted as their floor had been before Peeves had showed up. Harry and Draco found a shadowy corner to wait in. It seemed like they'd gone back to comfortable silence, so Draco didn't bother casting a silencing charm as they settled side-by-side against the wall. He knew it would've been smarter to stand, but he doubted anything interesting was going to happen.

            A few minutes after his most recent glance at his watch (which had informed him that they had been sitting in silence for _forty_ minutes and would need to get going soon), the soft sound of a portrait closing drifted down the hall.

            He and Harry exchanged a wordless glance. Harry cast a silencing charm, and they moved around the corner to see who was leaving the kitchens.

            The only sign of anything was a slight shimmer at the opposite end of the corridor. Someone was using a Disillusionment charm. He and Harry sped up until they were ten feet away. That was as close as they could get without being in the open. Close enough to see that it wasn't just a Disillusionment charm- it was a highly practiced one. That ruled out most of the students instantly. Harry jammed his wand into his pocket and mouthed a wordless spell, probably for the coin he'd mentioned to Hermione.

            They followed the barely-visible person into the Great Hall and immediately back down into the dungeons. They had to wait until the unidentified person was on their way down the stairs to avoid being seen, and when they finally made it down-

            "Shit," Draco hissed.

            They followed the hall to where it dead-ended in a crossing corridor, but the person had gone. The only way to find out which way would be to split up again, and that was not likely to end well. Defeated, Harry and Draco trudged back up the Great Hall steps and silently followed the least-confrontational route back to their floor. It was the way they always went.

            Almost every time, Draco slowed in the same corridor. This time was no different; he found himself drawn to the moon-bright grounds, lit as they hadn’t been on his cloudy earlier walk.

            Draco stopped in a window. The grounds were beautiful, moonlight bursting pale and silken across the lawn. Half-turned trees caught the light in layers of depth, contrasting sharply with the glinting silver of the lake. Draco heard Harry slow beside him and come to stop in the next window.

            At first it was just catches, a skim over his profile and darting away. Then Harry gave up on pretense and stared.

            Draco let him. "We should get back,” he said without turning.

            "Yeah," Harry agreed, still staring.

            After a minute Draco turned to look at him. Harry’s face never wavered. He’d known Draco knew he was looking. Draco let a hint of challenge into his expression, into his words. "Your hair is fucking ridiculous."

            He didn’t blink. "I know."

            Draco searched his eyes. They were too close maybe, and bright with moonlight, and open again, curiosity and possibly appreciation and nothing really else. Except a bit of the challenge back. Anticipating what Draco would say next. All Draco said was, "We're going to be late,” turning and starting back down the corridor.

            Harry hastened to follow.

            Ron and Hermione reported that nothing had happened on their end. Actually both of them were looking a little awkward, which meant something had happened, but not something Draco had any desire to hear about. He and Harry relayed their unsuccessful lead and were informed that the person they'd been following was-

            "Honeycutt?" Draco asked incredulously.

            "When I felt the coin, we checked your part of the map and she was definitely the one you were following," Hermione confirmed.

            "She could have just been going to the kitchens for tea or something. She lives in the dungeons," Harry said.

            "It didn't seem like she was lingering long enough to have done anything," Hermione agreed.

            "We'll have to check for more decorations tomorrow, either way," Ron said.

            "I can do it," Draco offered. "I'm meeting Blaise to do homework in the common room tomorrow." Blaise especially had made it clear that Draco was spending too much time alone (or with Harry- Draco had ignored the suggestion) and clearly stated that if he didn’t do something with Blaise soon their friendship would absolutely fall apart.

            "Alright. We'd better get back..." Ron rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Hermione. "I'm sure we'll figure it out."

            Harry laughed. Draco couldn’t help but wonder what that was about. Even if he shouldn’t be wondering. Because he and Harry were just friends and not being familiar with the tone of a friend’s laugh shouldn’t be unsettling.

            "See you tomorrow?" Hermione said.

            "Yeah, see you," Harry said. Draco waved.

            They were silent as they went back to their rooms. There was a hint of tension underneath, like both of them knew the question but neither was willing to say anything.

            It had not occurred to Draco, in any of the moments in which he'd considered himself fucked regarding Harry, that things would get so bad so quickly.

            'Bad' wasn't necessarily the best word. Maybe 'extreme' was better. Maybe he should have dropped the carefully-constructed mental pretenses and jumped straight into 'good luck with that crush on Harry Potter' mode. Because that's what it was. Draco had a crush on him and he had no way to stop it.

            Not seeing someone for a few days was one thing. Thinking your way out of it was another. Using both, he could pretty much guarantee the feelings would be stifled to the faintest of embers in no time at all. Unfortunately, there was no way to get away from Harry.

            Even if he wanted to. Which, crush or not, he really didn't. Draco snuck a sideways look at him. No. Definitely didn’t want to stop being around him. Cue the failure of the thinking his way out of it option.

            They got back through their painting and went straight for their respective rooms. Draco didn’t think he’d be ready to say anything to him that night (or he hoped he would, but doubted that revelation would come until long after Harry was asleep, because, late or not, Draco needed it).

            Harry was nice to be around. He made Draco feel comfortable even when every cell in his body was screaming at him that he'd passed normal crush territory and gone straight into wanting to be better friends and also entertaining the idea of properly falling in love with him. Draco had never actually pulled that one off, but the thought alone was enough of a signal that he was losing his mind. Draco wondered what specifically was wrong with him.

            No answer was forthcoming. Well. Unless Draco actually was falling in love with him.

            And, really, that was to be expected, wasn't it? It was Potter. Harry. Whatever the fuck he was calling him. Everyone was in love with the git.

            That was another thing. Draco didn't want to think of him that way. Not even a little. Every time he thought 'arsehole' in Harry's direction it was with more endearment than annoyance. He understood the ways Harry was annoying, and they didn't bother him so much anymore. He was used to them.

            Granted, he'd gotten used to plenty of other people without falling in love with _them_ (and there was the phrase a-fucking-gain). He found Pansy's tendency to paint her nails during the most serious conversations annoying. But he'd gotten used to that. Same with Blaise's excitability. It was cute now. Well. It would never be cute, but at least Draco understood it.

            Back to that. He felt like he understood Harry.

            Better than anyone else, maybe. And Harry understood him right back. And it was good. Really good. Or great. And he maybe wanted more of that. He did want more of that.

            So what was he going to do?

 

            “I want to help you, but I have a feeling this will be much more fun if I don’t.” Serena tapped her quill idly on her knee, gazing at Draco with more than a little amusement.

            He had an hour or so before Blaise showed up, which was just as well. “Serena, please. You’re the only sane one left. Blaise’s advice will be something along the lines of ‘have sex,’ Theo doesn’t talk about relationships as a general rule, and Pansy’ll probably take off running down the most crowded corridor on Monday shouting I’m in love with Potter.”

            Serena smirked. “You are in love with Potter.”

            “Why are you such a Slytherin?”

            “Enjoyment of dramatic irony isn’t an exclusively Slytherin trait. And I’m dating one, why don’t you ask her?”

            Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He knew Serena was his best bet for advice, but that didn’t mean it was going to be enjoyable. “Serena, please. Can you set aside your sadistic impulses for five minutes and give me some actual advice?”

            “I thought you didn’t need advice.” At that point, she was just antagonizing him, but that was the price one had to pay for whatever brilliant solution she’d come out with in the end. “You are a Slytherin after all. One who seems to have a good enough understanding of house characteristics to realize that Slytherins are exceptionally good at reading people. Or, at least, the smart ones like you are. Surely you can think of _something_ -”

            “Serena.”

            “I’ll only help if you mean it.”

            Right. Draco could ask for help without throwing an insult in at the end. “Please.”

            “Please what?” she singsonged.

            “Please help me find a way to interact with Potter that won’t end in romantic frustration or disaster.”

            “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

            “Tick tock.” Blaise was probably going to be late, anyway, but Draco thought it best not to risk him walking in on the conversation they were having.

            Twenty minutes later, Draco had a plan. It wasn’t an especially good plan, but, short of saying something that would fuck his chances of friendship with Harry into oblivion if he didn’t feel the same, it had the most potential.

            Putting his plan into action turned out to be rather more complicated than Draco had anticipated.

            Yes, he had opportunities, plenty of them. The problem was that Draco wanted to be- what? Discreet? Careful? Tactful? He supposed careful was the most accurate word for it. Either that or cowardly, but he didn’t think that was an encouraging train of thought, so… careful. Draco was being careful, and he couldn’t tell whether the anticipation itself or the possibility of Harry somehow reacting badly was worse.

            Time and time again over the course of the week he told himself to just ask him already. Merlin, it wasn’t even a romantic question. It was just _more_. Draco wanted more, and once he asked for it, Harry would know that. He was smarter than he appeared at first glance. Brilliant, really, but thinking about how brilliant Harry was didn’t make the prospect of instigating a closer relationship any less intimidating.

            Still had to do it.

            Which he did, on Thursday. “Potter.”

            “Mmm?” He was laying on the sofa like he did so often, holding a book aloft above his face in a position that probably would have been uncomfortable for someone who flew less often. For as much as he loved flying, Draco didn’t do it nearly often enough to be in shape for Quidditch. Harry could probably get back on the pitch in a second. As it was he didn’t appear to be remotely fatigued by his ridiculous reading position.

            Draco should fly with him more often. That wasn’t what he had to ask about, though. “Are you going to Hogsmeade?”

            “What?” Harry spared a split-second glance at him before returning his eyes to his book, as if he had to make sure that Draco was the one asking him. “I’m not sure. I think Ron and Hermione were going to make a date of it. I obviously don’t want to be the third wheel, but I wanted to pick up some supplies and maybe see about getting more books.”

            Draco stifled a laugh. Harry had been accumulating an alarming number of library books, like he was trying to make up for ten years with no knowledge of magic in the space of a single term. “Right. Well, I had a few things I needed, as well. Do you want to go together?”

            Harry closed his book on his finger and stared up at Draco. He looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what Draco meant by asking, and Draco was not inclined to risk answering that question unless he asked it. “Yeah.” He went back to reading.

            “Great.” Draco was halfway to his room before Harry’s voice stopped him.

            “Draco?”

            He’d used his first name. They didn’t do that. Draco did in his head, obviously, but until he knew how far Harry was willing to take things- he turned. “Yes?”

            His book was laying open on the floor, his posture drastically changed from what it was a second before; he was sitting up completely, green eyes boring into Draco’s. “Why do you keep doing things for me?”

            Draco thought. He thought about the night he’d dozed off sitting on Harry's floor and the times he’d left his door open (too many to count now, whenever he felt- whenever he thought one of them needed the comfort because Harry’s door was always open) and the way he consciously tried to make Harry laugh when he was worried and that night they’d got drenched and come dangerously close (not dangerously- he didn’t know dangerously- he didn’t know what it would have meant, not completely) to falling asleep on the rug in front of the fire because really it hadn’t been worth the effort to move and be less warm and not have the comforting sound of another person’s breathing so close. He thought about all those things, and the things Harry did for him but didn’t think were much, probably (especially the ones that were less obvious, like swinging by to insult him and make him smile when he was having a terrible day, or being around sometimes because he seemed to have a very good instinct about when Draco was feeling lonely). He thought about how nice it’d felt to let Harry stare and not have to give a single fuck why. He thought about sweeping fear and the memory that promised maybe Harry could keep him safe from it. In other ways than he had. Other ways than broomsticks and apologies. "Why did you save me?"

            “I saved you because you deserved saving.”

            And that was infinitely better than anything else he could have said. And better because Draco knew he meant it.

            He hadn’t answered Harry’s question.

            “I helped you because you needed help.” And he would keep doing it. Whether Harry needed to go over Potions homework or go flying with someone or just have a friend to go into Hogsmeade with.

            Before Harry could reply, Draco went into his room and shut the door. Much as he would have liked to hear it, he felt what had just passed between them was more than enough for one night.


	11. To Hogsmeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things may be ridiculously ambiguous but Harry isn't complaining.

            Harry couldn’t quite remember when he started organizing his days into ‘Malfoy’ and ‘no Malfoy’ parts, but he no longer minded.

            It was totally normal, anyway, he reminded himself. Sometimes before he’d organize his days into ‘put on a happy face for Ron and Hermione’ and ‘look angry so people stay the fuck away from you’ parts, but, then again, he supposed those circumstances didn’t really apply. He was looking forward to the chance to be around Malfoy because Malfoy was just… nice to be around. In a way that was a little more exciting because Harry hadn’t been having normal conversations with him for nearly eight years.

            Also because of whatever had happened the other night. And the fact that Malfoy had asked him to Hogsmeade. Which meant that Malfoy wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him. Draco wanted to go to Hogsmeade with him, he corrected himself. The elation of having a new friend- a close friend, maybe, or someone who wanted to be closer- was enough to drown out the lingering uncertainty Harry felt about the trip. It wasn’t a date. He would have asked differently. He didn’t even know if Harry was interested in dating men. Which was possibly something that would come up on… whatever non-date thing it was.

            Harry started spending more time with Ron and Hermione again. He hadn’t realized how withdrawn he’d gotten preparing for his OWL, and, much though he enjoyed reading, History of Magic became overwhelming in large quantities. Almost as overwhelming as the slight possibility that it maybe was a date and Harry had been reading Draco’s indecipherable expression in completely the wrong way.

            Well. The weekend wasn’t that far. He’d prepare for either possibility and figure it out when they got there. Not that there was anything to figure out because really it seemed like Draco just wanted to spend more time with him and he wanted to spend more time with Draco and it was probably better to just go along with whatever felt comfortable instead of trying to slap a label on something that had never been remotely conductive to one. Friends, enemies, lovers- shut up, Harry told himself firmly at that- what did it matter? They were Harry and Draco, and that was enough.

            Harry and Draco. He liked the sound of that. It was nice in a different way from his name attached to other names. It implied a high level of absurdity and a lot of bickering and smiles that hurt for more than one reason. But that was okay. Because Draco got it. He understood the way the smiles hurt and gave his own back.

            Merlin, he needed to get a handle on this before it got him into trouble. Draco hadn’t believed the chaos magnet comment, and Harry knew he had a point, but he also knew that his life tended toward disorder and that the removal of an immediate necessary task opened up plenty of room for all sorts of things to happen. Like falling for people who didn’t know he was interested and did not indicate any return interest.

Unless asking someone to Hogsmeade counted as interest.

            “Harry!”

            He turned. “Oh, hi, Luna!” He slowed a little so she could catch up with him. “How are you?”

            “I’m lovely, how are you?”

            “Confused,” Harry blurted. Well. If there was anyone he was going to tell, it might as well be Luna. If she asked. “Confused, but good.”

            “That’s an alright feeling, if a bit unpleasant. I could try to help, if you wanted.”

            Harry was getting a lot of help lately. And maybe, a voice in the back of his mind said, you deserve it. At least a little. You did sort of save the world. Harry stifled the thought and said, “Sure. But only if you let me return the favor once in a while.”

            “Of course.”

            Harry realized she was waiting for him to speak, so he began, “I have this friend.”

            “Ah.”

            “Yes. And we’re starting to be better friends, I think. And I want to be. But I also wonder if there could maybe be… more.”

            “More.”

            “Yes.”

            “I see.” They went along a few steps before Luna said, “I think I understand quite well what you mean.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yes. I found myself in a similar situation very recently.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes. I didn’t have to do much to resolve it, because I wasn’t the one who asked how the other one felt first. But I think the idea’s still the same.  You need to understand how they feel before you can go any further.”

            It made sense Luna would suggest the most direct result. Well, most people would disagree with him, but most people didn’t know Luna quite the same way Harry did. “Right. Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

            “I hope things work out for you. Might I call in that favor, now?”

            “What? Oh, yeah.”

            “What’s Ginny’s favorite flower?”

            Harry smiled. “It’s mignonette.”

            Luna hummed contentedly. “Thank you.”

            “That was an easy one.”

            “That’s fine. I know to come to you if ever I need help with DADA homework.”

            “Right.”

            “Have a wonderful day, Harry.” She turned; they were at the Great Hall and splitting to go to different tables.

            “You, too, Luna.” Harry’s momentary rush of affection for Luna was quickly replaced by the idea that he’d be going through all of lunch, Charms, DADA and dinner with Ron and Hermione. And that the urge to tell them would be warring with his desire to shut his mouth until he actually knew what was going on.

            “Hey, Harry,” Ron said as he swung into the seat next to him. “How’s Luna?”

            “She’s good.” Harry glanced across the Hall and saw Luna already laughing with Ginny at the Ravenclaw table.

            Hermione looked over her shoulder. “Oh. Yes. Another shining example of House Unity. How’s Draco?”

            Harry was grateful she’d asked before he’d taken a swig of pumpkin juice or he might have choked on it. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s good, too, I think.”

            Hermione looked very much like she wanted to say something, but like it was more trouble than it was worth and it would be better to exercise her patience this one time. Thank Merlin. “Halloween’s in less than a week and we still have no idea who’s decorating.”

            “It’d help if we went out again,” Ron said in a tone of innocent observation. He didn’t seem quite as inclined to sneak around at night as he once had, and, Harry realized, it was probably only for the chance to solve a mystery and the considerable nostalgia it inspired that he’d jumped so quickly on the idea.

            “I think the teachers are trying to get in smaller tests before the thirty-first because they know we won’t be doing any homework that night,” Hermione sighed. “Between that and the fact that we’re _all_ -” she glanced at Harry as if daring him to object, which he wouldn’t, because he could use another break and honestly they might as well have agreed to both skipping work that day since it wasn’t like he was going to be able to focus on anything but Draco “-refraining from work tomorrow, I don’t know that we’ll have the chance to go out again.”

            “I guess the best thing to do is keep an eye out, then,” Ron said.

            “I can look at the map tonight. I’ll be up late for Astronomy anyway.” Harry didn’t add that he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep because he was going to Hogsmeade with Draco, partly because he didn’t like to worry them and partly because he thought he was doing a pretty good job not mentioning it so far and he didn’t want to mess that up.

            “There’s also the possibility that they reveal themselves at the end,” Neville said, taking the seat next to Hermione.

            “Hi, Neville.”

            “Hey.”

            “Your detective instincts are good. Sure you’re set on Herbology?” Ron asked.

            “Positive. You’ll have to find someone else in the Auror department to solve crimes with.” Then, before any of them could mention Harry, Neville continued, “Do you have any good leads?”

            The discussion mercifully held their attention for the rest of lunch, and Harry willed their next two lessons not to drag on.

            They didn’t. Because apparently time passed differently when one was thinking about Malfoy. And when one of those lessons included rather more sidelong smiles and whispered jokes than usual.

            Damnit. He’d called him ‘Draco’ out loud once already. Maybe more than once. Harry _wanted_ to use his first name. He’d been thinking it earlier. Well. That had been before his primary mental objective became avoiding letting something slip before he had his own feelings sorted. Which he also had to do. Preferably before the Hogsmeade visit.

            Harry made it through dinner without any suspicious glances from Hermione, and he declined hers and Ron’s offer to study under the pretense of having some time to relax and prepare for Astronomy. The relaxation bit and the focus required to pay attention to NEWT-level star charts both went about as poorly as he’d expected, but Harry was grateful to find that the mostly-normal standard for interaction between him and Draco during Charms held up. After that he just had to get through the night.

 

            Harry slept eventually.

            He had been too exhausted from the Astonomy lesson to not be able to sleep at all, but given that Filch liked students out of the castle by 10:30 on the morning of Hogsmeade days, he hadn’t exactly gotten as much sleep as he would have liked. Then again, getting any at all was probably a miracle in light of his endless circles of thought about Draco.

            Draco didn’t look like he’d had the greatest night, either. When Harry came out of his room to find him already dressed and reading, Draco asked, “Bad night?”

            “Yeah. You look like you could use a few more hours of sleep, too. We could just sit around here all day instead of going into town.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “Chickening out on me, Potter?”

            “No. I just meant- I wouldn’t object. If you were tired.”

            “I still want to go to Hogsmeade. I suppose, if you were feeling totally exhausted-”

            “No. I’m good if you’re good.”

            Draco’s eyes sparkled. Yep. That was the word. Sparkled. “Get dressed, then.”

            Harry resisted the admittedly not-very-strong urge to say something back- he really was tired, and he had a feeling the point of the day was not bickering- and set about finding the pair of trousers that matched his favorite jumper.

            When they’d gotten down to breakfast, Harry veered left and made for the Slytherin table. It didn’t make sense to not sit together, and he was absolutely not explaining that to his friends on the eve of whatever progress he was about to make with Draco. Draco raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say a word about it. Evidently he saw Harry’s logic. Or thought it was pointless asking about it.

            Draco’s friends greeted him- or at least Pansy and Serena did- the others were nowhere to be found- when they sat across from them.

            “Hi, Harry.” Serena didn’t look especially surprised to see him there. Wasn’t like it was the first time.

            “How are you?”

            “I’m good. I’d be better if Pansy would wake up and let me drag her to Hogsmeade so she can get new dress robes.”

            Pansy was leaning on the table, head in hands and face not visible. Her voice came out muffled as she said, “I don’t need to get them today.”

            “Yes, you do.”

            “Why?”

            “Because every time you wear the pair you brought with you to Hogwarts you complain about them, and they look better on you than any of the others, so you need a new pair.”

            “But there aren’t even that many choices in Hogsmeade.”

            “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

            “Something isn’t made with Parisian-patterned fabric.”

            “Parisian-patterned fabric doesn’t match the mood you get into every time you have to wear dress robes.”

            Serena and Pansy continued to argue all through breakfast, leaving Harry and Draco to watch in amused silence. By the time they had finished eating, Serena had managed to convince Pansy to go into town with her on the condition that they go to Honeyduke’s after the robe shop, which, Harry decided not to mention, didn’t sound like much of a concession on Serena’s part.

            As they stepped into the Great Hall, Draco fell into step beside Harry. They kept up their amiable-but-definitely-apprehensive-on-Harry’s-part silence halfway across the lawn.

            Finally, Draco said, “I expect Pansy will find a pair of robes she likes only to rip the tags off and discover they’re worse than the other set.”

            Harry laughed.

            Draco kept talking. When had he started carrying conversations? “I don’t anticipate having the same issue with the potion ingredients I need.”

            “Anything specific, or just topping off your kit?”

            “Just the kit. I would take things from the supply cupboard, but…” he trailed off.

            Harry knew exactly what he was talking about. “It looks like some of that stuff’s been there for a while.”

            “The last time I borrowed something, my potion was definitely not the right shade of orange.”

            “We can go there first, then,” Harry suggested. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a date at that point, and that he’d been ridiculous to think of it as one; Draco just wanted to be better friends. Which was good. Regardless of where that led. Harry was feeling much more laid-back about everything now that they were actually in Hogsmeade.

            Of course, Luna’s point still held. They would probably need to discuss their relationship eventually.

            Or they’d just figure it out like they always did. Harry and Draco.

            “Can we go there later, actually? I don’t really mind when, but I think we should start at the far end of the street first, since…” Draco was trailing off much more often than usual that day.

            Again, Harry knew what he meant anyway. Farthest place first and work your way back- that was the most efficient. “Yeah. We should probably make an exception for the bookshop, though.”

            “What? Afraid you won’t be able to cast a good enough lightening charm to get the entire History of Magic section up to the castle?” Draco’s smile was genuine, only half a smirk.

            “No. Actually I was thinking I’d end up spending a lot of time there and I didn’t want to get in the way of your plans. Since we’re staying together today.”

            Draco looked taken aback by the honesty of the response for a split second, then fell into it like he’d been expecting the conversation to go that way all along. “I don’t think I’d mind watching you read. Not much, anyway. You don’t do much else when you’re in the sitting room.”

            Harry's heart skipped a little. Draco watching him read. This isn't a date, he reminded himself.

            Even if he was flirting back. “I suppose we should go into the broom shop, too, then. It’s only fair.”

            “Well.” Draco glanced away. Was he blushing? “So it’s the bookshop, somewhere for ingredients, Quidditch, Honeyduke’s-”

            “I didn’t say anything about Honeyduke’s.”

            Draco shot him a challenging look. “You seemed pretty interested when Pansy proposed it as a compromise earlier.”

            Harry grinned. “I wasn’t objecting.”

            Draco gave him the resigned-to-Harry’s-absurdity look and said, “As I was saying. Quidditch, Honeyduke’s, might as well do Scrivenshaft’s if we have time, and I presume you’ll want to stop into the Three Broomsticks?”

            He did want to stop in the Three Broomsticks, but there was a high probability that by the time they worked their way back there the place would be crawling with students. Like Ron and Hermione.

            Who knew they were friends and probably assumed they were spending the day together and had not been barking up the wrong tree when they suggested Harry liked Draco. Even if it wasn’t a date.

            Despite the fact that Draco's eyes were sparkling much more often than usual. Or more often than ever, really, as he said, “That’s fair, then. Three for me and three for you.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “I thought Honeyduke’s and the Three Broomsticks were mutually desired destinations.”

            “You like flying and really should get some new quills. Yours are looking-”

            “Don’t insult my quills.”

            “But I have a point.”

            Harry looked at him. “I suppose I could use some ink. What time did you want to be back at the castle?” McGonagall hadn’t officially pushed the seventh and eighth year curfew, but she had mentioned something near the end of the Hogsmeade announcement about them being of age and being responsible for themselves and popular debate had confirmed that that was basically permission.

            “Eager to get rid of me, are you?”

            “No. Quite the opposite. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t messing with your chances of actually getting sleep tonight.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Because that worked so well last night.”

            Harry’s heart started pounding rather fast. They were walking down the High Street, past most of the shops and still going. He met Draco’s eyes. Draco who had just implied he'd been distracted by Harry even though Harry hadn't gotten up to pace once the night before. “I wasn’t making any noise.”

            Draco held his gaze. “I know. I meant I was so anxious about this lovely outing that every time I got close to sleep it popped back into my head and got in the way.”

            “Was the thought of spending an entire day with me that bad?” Harry didn't mean the words to have an edge. They did anyway.

            Draco had to know Harry was joking, but he looked sad and glanced away. So he had heard Harry’s- disappointment? And he sounded disappointed. And sad. “After everything I’ve done to you you still think you’re the one who needs to be forgiven.”

            It wasn’t a question. He’d read Harry right, apart from the needing bit; he didn’t _need_ to be forgiven. He wanted to be, but he still couldn’t expect that from Draco. “If you’re trying to say you’re the one who needs to be forgiven, I’m not sure I follow.” Harry absolutely followed, and Draco knew it.

            But Harry was going to make him say it.

“I was terrible to you all through school.”

            “Yeah. So?”

            “I lost you over a hundred house points first year.”

            “I’m sure I’ve lost five times that on my own.”

            “I joined a task force whose sole purpose was to stop you from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

            Harry shrugged. “You weren’t that hard to avoid, to be honest.” That was a little bit of a lie, but Harry figured their transparency would make that pretty clear. Really he’d meant to turn it back into a joke- or maybe exaggerate so that Draco would stop blaming himself- but-

            “I tried to kill your mentor.”

            “Well. He basically killed me, and I’m reasonably certain I sent more than a few hexes in your father’s direction over the years.”

            “He- he what?” Draco looked at him like he’d surely misheard.

            Most people didn’t know about that. Harry had given up caring what people did and didn’t know. His dying wasn’t exactly something he wanted to go shouting from the rooftops, but it was Draco. They were being honest. “Dumbledore basically killed me. He knew I was going to have to die in that Forest, and he didn’t do anything to stop it.” Harry could almost feel the trees ripple from far off to their right. But that was over. Had been for a long time. And Draco was there next to him. “And your mum saved me.”

            “She what?”

            “She lied to Voldemort- probably the best Legilimens of all time- to find out if you were alive.”

            Draco looked shocked, grateful, uncertain, awed, unwilling or unable to hide his reactions. Finally he said, “Is that why you haven’t mentioned the life debt?”

            “I haven’t mentioned the life debt because I almost killed you, then you saved me, then I got you away from the fire, then your mother saved me. If anyone owes anyone a life debt, I’m the one who owes you.”

            “You put up with my shit for seven years. You testified at my family’s trials. You don’t owe me anything.”

            “I just listed three things in your favor and one in mine. I hardly think that counts as me not owing you.”

            “That’s not how this works. You saved my life once. I technically saved yours, if you want to call it that- you would have been found out later-”

            “That balances with me almost killing you, then.”

            “Okay. So you saved my life. My mother has nothing to do with this. That means I owe you a life debt.”

            “The only reason your mother asked was because of you. She wouldn’t have saved me if not for you. So, really, I owe you a life debt. So we’re even.”

            Draco stared. Then he asked, tone level, “What about the dying part? I mean, you don’t have to- I just- my mother-”

            “Voldemort put a horcrux in me accidentally. So to kill him, someone needed to kill that. Or me. Could have been me. Technically it was. But I… decided to stay.”

            “Decided?” Draco stopped walking, voice barely audible. They’d gone all the way through the village and reached a dead-end.

            Harry caught his tentative gaze and met it steadily. “Yes. Decided. And then I started breathing again, and she was the one in charge of checking, and she lied. It was a trade. I risked being found out to tell her you were alive, and she lied to Voldemort for me. Not a very even trade, I don’t think, so… I owe you. Or your mother.”

            Draco’s hesitation gave way to frustration. “You testified at the trials. You saved my life. You don’t owe us anything.”

            “That’s not enough,” Harry said quietly.

            “Of course it’s enough!” Draco exploded. “You saved my life, she saved yours!”

            Harry pressed, “So, we’re even, then.”

            “Do you know how many times I wanted you dead? So it could just end?”

            The words hung in the air between them and Draco looked like he regretted it. Then he looked resigned, like maybe it was better he’d said it, and Harry agreed. And for as honest the words had sounded, twisted with pain and longing and regret, Harry knew what Draco meant and didn’t blame him for it. “You didn’t want me dead that day when they captured me.”

Barely audible, “You might have died anyway.”

“You don’t want me dead now.”

            “Of course not,” the words were quiet, careful, like Draco still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t broken something.

            Maybe he had broken something. Just not what he thought he’d broken. “I don’t think wanting it to end and wanting me dead are quite the same thing.”

            “Maybe not.” He looked tired, almost defeated, like he’d finally realized Harry was going to treat him like a person and let his mistakes be just mistakes. And acknowledge that they didn’t cancel out the good things he’d done. Instead of looking for reasons they couldn’t talk to each other more often like they had that handful of times in the sitting room. Like they were then.

            “And I did forgive you. A long time ago.”

            Draco smiled a little. A hint of disbelief in it. “I know.”

            “Hug?”

            Draco gave him a skeptical look. “We’re arguing about which of us owes the other their life and you think the appropriate thing to do at this juncture is to hug?” He sounded so incredulous that for a moment Harry was certain he’d ruined it- whatever it was.

            But then Draco smiled, so Harry smiled and said, “Just to be clear, we’ve decided we’re even, right?” Harry still felt like he owed Draco something, something he couldn't quite describe, but he knew better than to think Draco would compromise that much that soon, especially given his apparent understanding of Harry's thoughts.

            Draco groaned and took a step towards Harry. “You have a fair point about ending a conversation about life debts with a hug. Given the circumstances. But this isn’t an agreement to your side of the argument. I’m not making a concession.”

            More talk of circumstances Harry didn’t know how to feel about yet and concessions like they were Serena and Pansy and really who cared? He was about to get a hug. From Draco. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

            But before he could open his arms in a half-mocking gesture of challenge, Draco fell into him. “You’d better appreciate this,” he said, closer to Harry’s ear than he ever had been perhaps ever. “I don’t hug just anyone.”

            Harry was beaming at that point. “Right. Thank you for the hug, Draco.”

            “You keep using my first name. It’s weird.”

            “Do you want me to stop?”

            “No. I was just making an observation.” Draco stepped back, apparently deciding the hug had been sufficient. “Harry,” he added.

            It sounded very good when he said it, Harry decided. “Where did you say we were going first? Draco?”

            “I don’t know, Potter,” he said slowly, like he was reminding Harry that he could switch back at any time if Harry pushed it. “We’ve made it to the end of the High Street. If we walk back towards the castle and hit the shops in order, I highly doubt we’ll miss anything.”

            Harry tried and failed not to smile. Draco was smiling, even if it was a small one, so that was fine, then. “Lead the way.”


	12. Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco works out some holiday plans. Partially.

            Platonic hug. It was a platonic hug, Draco told himself firmly as he watched Harry’s eyes light up at the sight of so many History of Magic books.

            Well. Even if it wasn’t, he had a feeling they weren’t going to discuss it that day.

            He and Harry had a habit of going long periods of time without discussing anything serious and then letting days or weeks or years of emotion come up in a rush. They seemed to have met their quota of heartfelt sharing for the time being.

            There was one more thing Draco wanted to say, but he wasn’t prepared to complicate the comfort and ease of the moment by saying it right then. Later.

            Draco had thought he’d be more nervous around Harry, especially since he wanted him to know the trip meant something (even if the full meaning of it remained to be determined). But it had just been… nice. Calm, even. The awkwardness of breakfast had dissolved, giving way to the slightly-electrified normalcy of the night before.

            Harry didn’t seem to mind Draco hovering (or watching him), but it did remind Harry he wasn’t alone and eventually he asked for the time.

            “Almost three." They still had to hit Honeyduke's, the Three Broomsticks, and Scrivenshaft's.

            "We should go to the Three Broomsticks now and get some food. It'll ruin the plan," Harry said, "but we should do it anyway."

            They _had_ skipped lunch. "We already ruined the plan coming into this bookshop before the end."

            "Is that a yes, then?"

            "Have you finished picking your books?"

            By way of answer, Harry went and paid for them, returning to Draco's side with a paper bag and a smile. "Ready?"

            The pub was crowded with students, as Harry had predicted, but it provided a level of anonymity that might not have been possible if they'd waited until the younger students had gone back up to the castle. People had long since gotten used to the idea they were friends, anyway; it wasn't like they were cozying up at a corner table at Madam Puddifoot's.

            The table they were able to find was small. There was barely enough room underneath for their respective bags and their feet; they kept nudging toes. After a few minutes Draco slipped his foot next to Harry’s and left it there. Harry didn’t seem to mind.

            He was talking excitedly about his new books. His eyes were almost as bright as they had been in the shop, tempered by more thoughtfulness and interest at the prospect of deeper exploration. Draco smiled and nodded and mostly appreciated Harry’s expressions while listening just enough to participate a little.

            On their way out of the pub someone called Harry’s name and he turned and waved. Then he nudged Draco, who looked, and gave an obliging head nod to Ron and Hermione.

            When they’d gotten outside, he turned to Harry. “Didn’t mind them noticing me, then?”

            “Of course not. Why would I mind?”

            “Breakfast.”

            “I just thought you’d rather listen to Pansy and Serena argue than get loads of suggestive comments from Hermione- and possibly also a few misplaced kicks from Ron, since he thinks if he stops her before she really gets going I won’t notice.”

            “There’s a difference between not noticing and choosing not to get involved until it’s absolutely necessary.”

            “Exactly.” Harry looked at him a little wonderingly, like he was still surprised Draco knew him that well. He glanced away and said, “Sometimes I wonder when one of us’ll do something stupid and it’ll all stop. I don’t want it to. But I can’t help but be amazed we’ve managed this long.”

            “If we can make it through the argument we had earlier without coming to blows- or hexes, though I doubt it’s that easy to make you angry anymore- I think a pleasant conversation about what our friends do or don’t assume about us is well within the realm of possibility.”

            Harry leaned into his next step and bumped shoulders with Draco. It wasn’t much, not nearly enough to throw him off balance, so Draco made his responding sway equally gentle. Less fake aggressive and more openly playful. Like they were very close to not caring at all anymore.

            Draco very much liked that idea.

 

            They were nearly back up to the castle, the sun long set, when Harry surprised him and asked, “Fancy a walk? After we take all this up, I mean?”

            Draco might have pointed out that they’d been walking all day, or that it made no sense at all to go all the way back to their rooms if they were only going out again, or that if they did go back out they’d miss even the very end of dinner. Instead he said, “Yes,” and they went up and put their things on the table and turned around and went right back out again.

            He let Harry set the pace, slower in the windowy parts, faster down the stairs (like he was trying to break a personal record or lose his balance on purpose, Draco thought), nearly stopping when they got out of the castle and found the grounds bathed in shadow with faint hints of moonlight peering from behind the clouds.

            Finally they got to the edge of the lake. They’d been silent the whole way down.

            It was Draco’s turn. “I forgive you.”

            Harry turned to look at him, so Draco turned and met his eyes. They were darker than usual and steadier and a little amazed. He looked like maybe he wasn’t planning on moving for a while and Draco wouldn’t have cared but Harry wasn’t a sitting-still-for-too-long kind of person so he reached out and touched his upper arm lightly.

            Harry nodded once and didn’t say anything and turned back to the lake, breaking the contact.

            Draco stood with him until he was ready to leave, and then they went up to the castle and down to the kitchens talking and smiling the whole way.

            When they had finished eating and were halfway back to their room, Harry said, “There’s another Hogsmeade weekend in November.”

            Draco replied with his most dazzling smile.

 

            The Halloween decorator was never revealed. This development was met with disappointment by all three of the Trio (or the other parts of the Parabola, or whatever they’d decided to call it), although Hermione made the wise and unexpected (coming from her) observation that some secrets were best left unknown. For a split second afterwards she gave Harry a look that Draco saw him acknowledge, then everything folded back into pleasant conversation about the Halloween decorations and wondering if the person who’d put them all up would be awake all night taking them down. Despite the fact that it was a weekday, most of the older students were planning on being up all night, as well. The handful of Ravenclaws that had decided to opt for double rooms (Serena wasn’t entirely right, but she didn’t seem too bothered when Blaise pointed this out to her) had transfigured the neighboring empty classrooms and handed planning over to a pack of seventh year Gryffindors.

            Draco ended up going to the party for a while. It was surprisingly tame (evidently the people who’d planned it had done a good job), and Draco wandered back to his room a little tipsy and passed out with his bedroom door half open. He woke to find Harry asleep, door likewise half open, and snuck in to turn off his alarm. He had to go in and wake him twenty minutes later, but being late to breakfast was worth it if he got to see Harry smile like that.

            November began in a blur of nonverbal spell pop quizzes and four-foot essays. Harry and Draco fell into a comfortable pattern that included sitting next to each other in Astronomy as well as Charms and eating one or two meals a week at the Slytherin table and the occasional one at the Gryffindor table. Despite the steady increase in “accidental” touching and too-soft smiles, they decided by silent and mutual agreement (‘that’s a bad idea’ looks from Harry and waves of visible relief from Draco) that it would be better to avoid having Harry’s mates teasing the shit out of them when Draco’s were doing a fine job of it on their own.

            Neither of them seemed inclined to point out how that correlated with the very real intensity that had only deepened after the Hogsmeade trip. Possibly because the pre-Halloween homework load could not compare to the amount of work assigned by professors who had only just seemed to realize that their students were finishing their second-to-last term at Hogwarts and there was only so much NEWT coursework you could jam into the few months after the holidays. Even if Draco had wanted to confront the terrifying prospect of discussing his feelings with Harry (or, more likely, asking what they were and receiving an equally uncertain and let’s be honest uncaring response because whatever it was it seemed to be working out well enough at the moment), they wouldn’t have had the time. Especially before the second Hogsmeade trip.

            They spent half the day together, splitting off to find their respective friend groups later in the day. It was sort of nice but mostly frustrating because Draco found himself wishing he could spend more time with Harry even though they saw each other twice as often as Draco saw his friends and he didn’t want the chance to fuck up and say something that’d scare Harry off (not that any of the obvious flirting they’d started the month before seemed capable of doing that) and set them back to where they were before they’d started pressing knees on the sofa or worse farther still than that.

            Never mind Draco’s desire to grab his waist when they were standing deliberately too close and pull him closer and kiss him. A lot. Until both of them were gasping for breath and stumbling back towards the nearest room or maybe the sofa or even just the floor pulling off clothes-

            The distraction didn’t make it easier for Draco to continue his increasingly-desperate career search. It was like the entire contents of the Hogwarts library (and the entire population of the school, for that matter) were laughing in his face; you don’t want to do this, they said, it may very well be suited to potions expertise or some other student’s personality traits, but it most certainly isn’t suited to you. You’d hate doing that.

            And the problem was that he would. He’d hate being ridiculed every day by Ministry officials. He’d hate being made to wait only to be told some Quidditch team wasn’t interested in buying a broom from a Malfoy. He’d hate doing all he could for a hospital patient and having his efforts ignored by superiors who’d do whatever they could to hold him back. Draco couldn’t work for an established magical organization without facing prejudice ten times as bad as the scoffs and muttered insults he’d heard at the outset of his eighth year.

            He could try to start something of his own, his own business or shop or something, but his chances of success there were even slimmer. Social skills and a strategic mind meant nothing if no one was willing to give him a chance.

            So maybe that was it. Maybe he’d just have to put himself out there and accept a job with whoever was willing to let him succeed or fail on his own.

            “Draco?”

            He blinked. “Sorry?”

            “You’ve been like this all week,” Pansy grumbled.

            “Sorry,” Draco repeated in an obvious tone, imploring her to get to the point already. She didn’t need to know that he’d been about to switch from depressing career aspirations to serious consideration of whether Harry’d be willing to go along with the constellation naming tradition.

            “I was trying to ask which days you planned on staying at mine over the holidays.”

            Ever since they’d done the fake-dating stint (and started spending enough time around each other to genuinely look forward to it), he and Pans had spent decent portions of all their holidays together at one or the other’s family estate. Since Draco had basically shut himself up in the Manor all summer, Pansy had stayed two weeks there; that meant it was his turn to go to hers. “To be honest I haven’t been thinking about hols much.”

            “What a surprise. I can’t believe the idea of having to get a job with the unwritten past position of ‘Death Eater’ on your C.V. compounded with seeing the people you love starting to stress the fuck out about exams would be enough to divert your attention from the week of absolute debauchery we’re going to get up to this winter.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “Debauchery?”

            “Debauchery, lasciviousness, getting pissed and spelling half the flowers in the garden purple. You name it, darling.”

            “That sounds lovely. I’ll have to owl mother about plans, first, though. I have no idea what she’s planning on doing this year…” Normally he would. Normally all of this would have been worked out and scheduled and mailed to him. Normally half their family friends weren’t in jail with the other half not speaking to them to save face.

            Pansy smiled sympathetically. “It’ll be wonderful anyway. Even if it’s just us.”

            “You aren’t inviting Serena?”

            “She’s got to go on a trip with her family, and I thought you might like to have some time with just us. Seeing as how it might be the last time. If you’d rather I find a week when she’ll be available, so you can invite Harry-”

            “I don’t know why on earth you’d think I would want to invite Harry to a week of depravity at your house.”

            “Don’t think he’d get along with my parents?”

            “More like we aren’t dating and even if we were I wouldn’t want to subject him to whatever it is you’re planning.”

            “I think he’d have fun. I think you’d have fun. But I think it’ll be nice to spend some time just us, and I might even be able to convince you to tell me what’s really going on between you, so I suppose it’s just as well. You’re sure you have no idea when you’ll be free?”

            “Unfortunately not. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

            Draco went straight for the Owelry after that, knowing it wouldn’t do to get distracted and end up putting it off and inconveniencing everyone involved. He’d penned a quick letter to his mother first. They hadn’t corresponded as much as they had in past years, but Draco knew that had more to do with the liberality of their letters and the fact that no news had lately been good news.

            As he turned the corner and stepped into the last corridor, a figure emerged from the door at the other end. Harry. Draco smiled.

            “You again?” Harry laughed as they approached each other, both slowing to stand a few feet apart.

            “I have to send a letter.”

            “I’m always running into you.”

            “Might be because we have adjoining rooms.” Was he imagining it, or was Harry closer than he’d been a second ago? “Or because you seem to enjoy spending time with me.”

            “Can’t imagine why.” He was definitely closer.

            Draco exhaled, broke eye contact, took a few steps back towards the Owelry door. “Were the owls helpful today?”

            “Very.”

            “See you back in the room?”

            “Yeah.” He turned.

            “Harry?”

            He turned back.

            “I was just talking to Pansy about the holidays.”

            “Oh?”

            “You should come over.”

            “During the holidays?”

            “That is what we were talking about, was it not?”

            “It seemed like it.”

            “Would you want to? Come over?”

            He cracked a smile. “’Course I would. Your mother loves me.”

            “Old friends?”

            “Something about both of us caring about you, I think.”

            They stared some more. Because that’s what they were doing at that juncture. Staring too much and never doing anything about it.

            And then Harry said, “You can come to mine. Whenever you want.”

            And Draco wanted so much in that moment to cross those few feet again and not stop until his lips were pressed to Harry’s. He wanted to.

            But he didn’t. “Alright.”

            “You’ll come over?”

            “Yes. If you will.”

            Harry was smiling again. “Already said I would.”

            “You’ll want to call first. Since you evidently don’t have an owl. Or you could just come by. Whenever. Can’t promise I’ll be there. Pansy’s a demanding ex-girlfriend.”

            “I thought you said you never really dated.”

            “We didn’t."

            "Right. See you later, then," Harry said, tone suddenly easy, and strolled off back towards their rooms.

            Draco sighed and went to mail his letter.


	13. Argument

            Harry looked upon the last few weeks before the holidays with a growing sense of anxiety traceable to three reasons.

            First there was the prospect of entering his last term at Hogwarts, which, though exciting, was also terrifying. He had gotten a fair bit of help in determining what he'd need to do once he was ready to start, but he still had no clue _where_ he wanted to start. He had also been warned by Hermione and a plethora of Ministry history books that house elf liberation might not be the most advisable beginning of a reform career. Wonderful as it would be to hit the ground running, he might end up having to start working somewhere else to learn the ins and outs of the job. So much for using his name to get things done faster.

            Second Harry was dreading the idea of spending the holidays without Ron, Hermione, or Hogwarts. He couldn't justify not going back to check on the house and Kreacher- who had been offered clothes six times (so that definitely wasn't going to be a problem once he got SPEW up and running again)- and he did have the Weasleys' Christmas to attend. It would be lovely. It would also give him only a short respite from the aloneness. The rest of the holidays would be spent trying not to fall into the half-catatonic lethargy of last summer.

            Apart from the third thing that was bothering him.

            Malfoy.

            Draco. Making Harry anxious because they'd agreed to visit each other over the holidays, and Harry wanted to. Part of the reason he was so worried was that he'd gotten used to having him around and dreaded the idea of wandering up and down the house alone, thinking about him and not being able to see him for more than a few hours at a time. Being around him was the easiest thing in the world. Harry almost forgot about- nope, who was he kidding, if anything the crush got worse when they were actually around each other, it was just- it didn't feel nerve-wracking or scary or stupid. It just felt fine. Like things were the way they were supposed to be. Alright. Best friend crush or not.

            Because that's what they were. Best friends. It was something different than Ron or Hermione- who Harry considered best in different ways, for different reasons. Harry's relationship with Draco was about as different from either of those as his relationships with Ron and Hermione were from each other. Hermione was his homework best friend, his talking best friend, the best friend he went to when he wanted to be told he was being an idiot. Ron was his joking best friend, his serious best friend, the person he went to when he needed someone who knew him so well he'd react the way Harry needed without fail even if Harry was totally out of it. Draco was his teasing best friend. His deepest thought best friend. The one he went to when he was 100% certain not a single other person on the planet would know what he meant, or what mood he was in, without even having to ask, without even having to know what he was thinking about or what was bothering him. Or knowing it, sensing it because it made sense to him somehow and because if he had had to he would ask, because he was completely honest with Harry in a way he'd never experienced with anyone before, ever, and that maybe should have been a problem but he kind of liked it because it made things with Draco feel that much better.

            Draco was someone it would be easy to love. In a second. Harry knew he sort of already did. Still not in any way more than Ron or Hermione- still different- because he hadn't let it be more. Or hadn't had a chance to let it. Or hadn't wanted to take the chance if he had had it.

            Which he maybe might have, Harry thought, in the moments when they stared at each other like they were daring each other to close the distance and make it something more. Something more than conversations that ended too soon and frustrated sighs when one of them moved away. More than the door being open even though that was wonderful and amazing in and of itself. More than sitting on the floor together, just being next to each other, when it got bad.

            That's what Harry wanted. He wanted them to acknowledge it. Because all he really wanted was someone who would tell him everything would be okay and who would also fight as hard as they could for it to be okay, because Harry would do it back. And Draco already was that person.

            And then when he'd thought that about Draco, really considered being with him- now that Harry’d admitted to himself that he definitely wanted more from their relationship but only if Draco wanted it and that was another terrifying thing, what if Draco didn't want it?- once he had that in his head he got a little sad, because he didn't think he could stop it. Didn't want to, but didn't want it to mess things up, either.

            Harry was trapped, then. He had to say something but if he did he might lose Draco in a way much worse than not being more than friends. A way worse than not knowing a Draco that was just his and having Draco know a Harry that was just Draco’s. Much, much worse than that.

            So Harry already was his, then. Because whatever Draco did, whichever way he decided- if he even did at all, if Harry could find a way to say something and if Draco chose to act on it- it was going to impact Harry. Massively. Or. If he said no it would. If he insisted Harry was over-analyzing things and said they should play it by ear instead it'd be _annoying_ , maybe, or good, but not all that impactful. If he said yes-

            If he said yes Harry would go from alright/good/mostly happy to unreasonably ecstatic all the fucking time. Uncertain career prospects or not. So that would be a pretty important shift.

            All he had to do was figure out how to say something to Draco that wouldn't elicit the kind of incredulous silence Harry hadn't heard in a very long time. The serious void of sarcastic response that meant Harry had said something so ridiculous Draco couldn’t dignify it with a reply.

            That wouldn't be difficult. Not at all.

 

            “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

            Fuck. “It’s nothing. Really.”

            “If you think I can’t read your emotions by now- embittered though you may be, you are still a Gryffindor- you’re not nearly as intelligent as I thought you were.”

            Had that been a compliment? He knew what Draco meant by the bitter part- he'd started glaring at people who approached him in the corridors before his OWL and hadn't exactly stopped. The intelligent part was complimentary, though. That wasn't the point. The point was that Harry had not come close to figuring out what to say and it was making his interactions with Draco way more difficult than he had imagined possible. So he said, by way of distraction, "I almost got sorted into Slytherin."

            It worked. "What?"

            "The Sorting Hat, it- it told me I would do well in Slytherin."

            "Interesting though that may be-" damn it hadn't worked "- that doesn't explain why you've spent the past few days sulking around here and avoiding your friends."

            Saying ‘friends’ in a way that excluded himself implied Draco thought of himself as something else. Which he was. Which was why Harry had a problem. And why he couldn't explain himself to Draco. Which didn't go along with Luna's feelings advice at all but would at least buy him time to think of something that wouldn't constitute him saying completely the wrong thing and blowing his chances with Draco to hell. Harry went with a half-truth this time. "Being around them reminds me I won't get to see them during the holidays-" and shit he wasn't stopping "- and that I'll have to go through an entire two weeks without falling back into that depression from over the summer."

            "I thought we'd agreed we had plans over the holidays?"

            Because adding that to the discussion would make it easier for Harry to talk to him. "Yeah. Well." And then he didn't know what else to say because how much had Draco just implied he was planning on seeing Harry?

            Draco looked torn, actually. Normally Harry'd be able to figure out why, but given his own head was such a mess at the moment he didn't really feel qualified to go- well- Draco could be debating the offer. The details they hadn't specified because Harry had been flirting. Or he could be considering rescinding it. No. Draco wouldn't do that. Probably. He wouldn't. He fucking likes you he wouldn't agree to that if he didn't like you-

            But Draco wasn't saying anything at all.

 _Fuck_. "I mean I can't expect you to distract me the entire time. And you said you had other plans, so it isn't like- even if-" Nope. No fucking way. He was shutting up before he said something worse. Wait. No. That might not be the best idea, either. "I mean, you can come to mine whenever you want. I meant that. But I also can't expect you to spend the entire time distracting me when you've got enough of your own things to worry about." And Harry could have done more to help with that. Draco was having a harder time than he was figuring out what he wanted to do after Hogwarts, and Harry had got so caught up in untangling his own feelings that he hadn't helped.

            "Right." Draco still looked confused. That was definitely confusion. Or- it cut off and he turned it to that smooth unreadable expression that it was sometimes beyond even Harry to figure out. Which it of course was just then because he was a mess. "Right," Draco said again, different this time. "Did you want to discuss that?"

            "What?"

            "Discuss it. Discuss when I was coming over or why you think you need a distraction."

            "No." But he'd said it too quickly.

            Because Draco said, "Right. Well, then, if you're not going to tell me what's going on..." and swung his bag over his shoulder and left the room with a sound that was not a slam but sounded very final.

            "Fuck."

 

            Harry went over and over it in his head afterwards. Maybe Draco had reacted too swiftly to his hasty answer, but Harry also knew they didn't exactly have a history of not talking about things. Hell, he'd been thinking just a few days ago that that was why they worked so well together. They didn't hide because it would be pointless, so Draco feeling entitled to know Harry's feelings did make a twisted sort of sense. Or. He hadn't necessarily seemed entitled to Harry's feelings. More like entitled to a coherent idea of what they were doing over the holidays. The feelings bit had been left up to Harry to share or not- like it always had- and he'd chosen not to this time. Draco might be frustrated, but he wouldn't press the issue.

            He didn't press the other issue, either. At first Harry hoped he was just a bit angry and would cool off in a few days, but after that he realized that Draco was being cordial to him again- like they had on the rare times they'd seen each other in the street just after the war- and had fully backed off in the face of Harry's indecision. Which was maybe a little unfair, but was fair in other ways. Unfair because it seemed like an overreaction. Fair because he'd asked Harry a normal question that, normal or not, even Harry should have attempted to answer, and he just... hadn't. Which maybe made Draco think he was reconsidering the holiday thing even though he absolutely wasn't.

            Well. Wasn't until he'd gone and fucked it up.

            Hermione and Ron were thankfully in the throes of planning their trip and didn't do more than mention Harry's sulkiness and offer help in case he wanted it- and obliging acceptance in case he didn't. Like they'd gotten used to it. Which they probably had, given they'd been his best friends for eight years.

            Mostly he just smiled sometimes and nodded and put in the occasional comment. He did the same when they visited Hagrid's, and their Australia trip was so much the point of that discussion that he didn't have to contribute much, anyway.

            The worst part was that he and Draco hadn't actually stopped talking. Draco didn't even seem angry anymore. A week after the stupid argument- if he could even call it that- and Draco was even throwing in the occasional sarcastic comment, now completely devoid of his previous warmth. Harry tried being around him sometimes, doing homework together in the sitting room and attempting to instigate conversation, but the only time Draco paid attention was when Harry brought him another one of those career books Harry'd pretended to read over the summer.

            After a few days, Harry decided he was going to help Draco figure out what he wanted to do. It was poor recompense for his failure to realize how much Draco could have used the help before, but at least it was something. At least Harry could keep hoping one day he'd turn around and smile at him again- because he hadn't seemed to be having problems doing it around his real friends, the ones Harry never saw anymore except across the Great Hall during one of the fifteen or so times a meal he glanced over to confirm that Draco was getting on fine without him. Which he was.

            Probably the worst part was that Harry still left the door open- he always would- and Draco hadn't once since the fight. Every once in a while a hint of actual gratitude would sneak into his expression as he took a book or listened to some errant piece of advice from Harry- always unsolicited and usually about finding something to do in the future, however unqualified Harry was in that realm of experience- and even then it flashed away quickly enough for Harry to wonder if he'd been imagining it.

            There was only one time he didn't wonder. That one time was enough for him to be angry at Draco for making him certain there was still some connection under the mask he'd picked up again- how could there not be- for making him think he hadn't been imagining the flicker of thankfulness and maybe astonishment that happened when Harry tried to help him.

            They were in the sitting room. Draco was doing homework at the table, Harry reading on the sofa. He had considered aborting the attempt and dragging himself off to the Gryffindor common room about six times by then, but Harry was stubborn and he didn't like the idea of giving up even when he knew there wasn't a chance Draco was going to interact with him.

            Except he did.

            "I'm easier to be around when you aren't arguing with me."

            "We aren't arguing. We're in a fight."

            "Would you care to clarify the difference?"

            "Arguing is a continuous thing. It stops when you stop talking. Being in a fight keeps going."

            "Aren't they both continuous, then? And I know from experience- with you, I might add- that it is very possible to argue nonverbally. Hell, you're doing it right now. Your shoulders are tense and you're refusing to look at me."

            And Harry would keep refusing to look at him, because he sounded smug and self-satisfied and edgy in a way that suggested feelings he hadn't shown to Harry in over a week. "Body language and arguing are hardly the same thing."

            He heard a frustrated sigh, and he could feel Draco's eyes on him. "Fine, then. Body language, arguing, it doesn't matter. We can't stop fighting if you don't tell me what's wrong."

            Harry knew if he turned around he'd break and tell Draco everything. But he didn't want to tell everything to this Draco, to the one who'd stopped talking to him and who probably knew all Harry needed was some time to think even though Harry couldn't have expected him to know that any more than Draco could expect Harry to know what to say to get them back to normal without ruining it. And Harry didn't know. He didn't know what they could expect from each other because it had never even been a question, never even been up for debate until he'd frozen and Draco had shut down in response.

            So Harry closed his book and grabbed his bag and left.

            So much for being a Gryffindor.

 

            A day later he was still kicking himself for not taking the opportunity and he came in and found one of Draco’s jumpers thrown over the back of the sofa.

            It wouldn’t have been weird if he’d been in the room. But he wasn’t in the room. He was nowhere to be fucking seen. And Draco didn’t leave his shit in the sitting room when he was not also in the sitting room.

            So something was wrong then. Like Harry hadn’t already figured that one out. He was still angry and still experiencing an uncharacteristic- well, except when it came to love, go figure- streak of honest to Merlin cowardice.

            He almost wanted to storm out of the room right then, find Draco, and shove the sweater in his face and demand what was wrong. Apart from their fighting. Because he’d seemed fine with that part before.

            But he didn’t know where Draco was. Thought he was probably on the grounds, actually, and thus didn’t want to be found. Least of all by Harry, if he had to guess.

            Harry picked up the sweater. He dipped his head, inhaling the smell. It smelled like Draco.

            He sighed and dropped his arms. Expecting to be angry.

            But he was only sad.


	14. Blanket

            Draco was going on quite a few walks, even though it was especially freezing. He hadn’t bothered before (beyond his usual every-few-days-in-times-of-stress walks) because even though Harry was being an arse Draco still felt a bit better when he was in the same room. And wasn’t that fucking brilliant.

            But Harry had refused, again, to say what his problem was. And it was clearly a problem with Draco. And if Harry didn’t want to talk about it there was no way they were going to, unexpected honesty or not. And Draco couldn’t fix it if he didn’t know what was wrong. Which Harry had refused to tell him. Again.

            He’d been concerned before, but not actually worried. Concerned about Harry. More concerned than he was angry. By far. But not worried that they wouldn’t work it out. They seemed to work it out well enough the few times they’d come close to shouting at each other since they started sharing the rooms.

            But the more Draco thought about that, the more he realized that this was different. Because shouting was still talking. Silence was… not good. Had the potential to be the kiss of death for whatever the hell their relationship was, if he was being honest with himself. Shouting or not, their easy conversations depended on the fact that both of them knew they could say whatever the fuck they wanted and were going to get a similarly honest reply back, even if they were arguing properly. No matter what he’d said in his failed attempt to get Harry to come around, this wasn’t arguing. They weren’t dancing around each other uncertainly, either, like they had been before. They were keeping each other at a safe distance.

            The idea was almost laughable. He’d been trying to figure out what a safe distance was for weeks, and now a very, very safe distance had sprung up between them. Couldn’t get much safer than refusing to fucking talk to each other. No chance of more than unrequited pining, there.

            Draco realized with a pang that he’d considered not seeing Harry as a viable, if undesirable solution to his crush when he’d first acknowledged that he had one. Time had passed since then. Not seeing Harry was no longer undesirable; it was fucking unbearable.

            And yet. There Draco was. Strolling around the lake at half past one, Harry nowhere near him and probably feeling fine about it.

            Draco had tried to figure out something better to say than asking Harry what was wrong again, but after the first few days of chilliness he’d realized that he couldn’t. So he waited. A week. Hoping Harry’d be more willing to talk after that.

            But he hadn’t been. And Draco hadn’t known what to do with that. So now he and Harry weren’t speaking at all.

            He had no idea what else he could have done. Well, apart from making suggestions, but he knew how well Harry took to those when he wasn’t in the mood for them. And how could he possibly have promised Potter anything close to the nonstop two weeks of companionship Draco was reluctant to let himself consider even hypothetically when Draco was worried about the stability of his own sanity?

            Draco winced. There was that surname again.

            Maybe they could spend more time together. Keep each other sane. Not two whole weeks, but… more than this. More than nothing.

            He could suggest that, if he knew it was appropriate. If Harry would tell him what was going on. If not...

            If not Draco didn't exactly have much to go on in terms of suggesting what they do, over break or otherwise (and he'd be fucked if he let plans with Pansy get in the way of helping Harry).

            And if they did spend more time together Harry would be helping him, too. Even if he didn't know it. Hopefully he would. Fuck; no; he would. Draco knew they knew each other well enough by then. Harry wouldn’t need an explanation for Draco’s need to inhale his innocently determined energy any more than Draco needed an explanation for why Harry always smiled more in the morning when Draco had left the door open.

            Maybe he should do that. Maybe it would work.

            Draco came in from his walk to find the sitting room empty but for a muggle career book laying on the table.

            Harry was still helping him. They weren’t talking, they had moved beyond all preliminary efforts at making up and all but entered the oppositional-self-righteous-attitudes-only realm. And Harry was still helping him.

 

            “I can give you two days.”

            “Two days?” Pansy asked, incredulity clear in her voice.

            “Two days,” Draco clarified. They were in the Slytherin common room and he was finally answering her request to make plans over the holidays.

            To her credit, Pansy responded with consideration instead of outrage. “I guess… If you slept at mine, agreed to do whatever I wanted, and refused to sulk about this thing with Potter-”

            “There is no thing with Potter,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

            Pansy laughed. “Right. And that’s why you’ve been spending so much time around Blaise.”

            “Blaise is busy.”

            “Blaise is too straightforward to put up with your bullshit and you don’t want to risk him saying something to Harry himself.”

            Draco gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. “Blaise? Straightforward?”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Alright, I know.” Draco sighed. “Two days,” he repeated.

            “And you do have to do everything I say.”

            “Fine. Great. Whatever.”

            “I haven’t seen Potter.”

            “I wasn’t going to ask if you’d seen him.”

            “You were thinking about it.”

            Draco took a calming breath. “I was not.”

            “Were.”

            “No. I was not thinking about seeking out the person who’s refused to say a word to me for days.”

            “You have to admit _that’s_ Blaise-like behavior. You’re being overdramatic. It’s only been a day and a half, dear Draco.”

            Draco shut his eyes. “That counts as days, plural.”

            “If you insist.”

            “The week before that wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

            “I know. I was the one charged with keeping up teasing you all by my lonesome because you won’t go near Blaise and Serena’s too busy with classes to put up with you.”

            “Because you were so helpful in relieving the unpleasantness.”

            “You love me. Wouldn’t be giving me three whole days of holidays otherwise.”

            “Two days. And I know. That’s the only reason I’m still standing here talking to you. Why I haven’t hexed you and gotten on with my life, I mean.”

            “You’re the one who started the conversation.”

            “Yes. And we agreed to two days.”

            “Four.”

            “Two.”

            They stared at each other.

            “Fine,” Pansy said. “But if you break when I try to trick you later-”

            “I have an Astronomy paper to write. Goodbye.” Draco turned on his heel and stalked out of the common room. He wasn’t sure exactly where he’d go, having already spent quite enough time pacing around during the morning break, but, idiot or not, he figured there had to be some decent reason Potter spent so much time wandering around the castle.

 

            Draco was lost.

            Malfoys didn’t get lost. Malfoys used maps. And spells, and planning, and fucking guides if need be, because Malfoys didn’t get lost.

            Except one was. Because he’d been stupid enough to think Harry didn’t completely rely on that map of his not to trap himself in a second floor corridor that managed to be completely and utterly unfamiliar despite Draco’s seven years of experience traipsing around the castle. Evidently he hadn’t done enough traipsing, because he had no fucking clue where he was.

            And wasn’t that appropriate. Literally being lost on top of not knowing what he was going to do or where he stood with Harry. Which was shit. Absolute fucking rubbish. Malfoys- no, Draco Malfoy- did not get lost. Vaguery aside, Draco had known where he stood with Harry before the fight. Mostly. This whole not-knowing-what-Harry-thought thing was unacceptable. Actually. It wasn’t unacceptable if Harry didn’t want to tell him what he thought. What was unacceptable was that Draco had let it throw up a wall between them. Let himself go along with it.

            Fuck that.

            As soon as Draco got away from that stupid fucking statue he’d passed seventeen stupid fucking times, he was going to tell Harry that he couldn’t back out of their friendship without at least giving Draco an explanation. He didn’t actually think Harry wanted to stop being friends, but he worried about it, and he knew that taking an extreme approach would snap Harry out of whatever had gotten into him.

            Now he had that sorted. And had finally found the hidden staircase he’d been looking for (he’d known there was one on this floor). The final aspect of Draco’s lostness was the job thing.

            Informative though Harry’s assistance had been (and there was another reason Draco wasn’t particularly worried about their friendship but that was not the issue he was currently considering), it hadn’t inspired much enthusiasm for any of the shitty wizarding careers he didn’t want to pursue.

            And then Draco realized he’d missed the landmark painting he usually used to make his way around the third story and he was lost again.

            Two out of three would have to do for the moment.

            Draco wondered if the founders had ever gotten lost. Probably. Magical castles weren’t exactly conductive to knowing your way around. He had been on good terms with the Manor (which didn’t really change that much anyway) for a while. He and Hogwarts had fallen out of acquaintanceship lately. Draco supposed he’d been relying too much on Harry. And the few times he did wander around, like then, he’d been too distracted to notice what the castle was doing.

            “I’m sorry,” Draco said aloud.

            The castle gave him a stairway to the fourth floor in response.

            Ah. So there was maybe a way to get unlost faster.

            “I’m sorry I haven’t appreciated you this year.”

            It wasn’t like it was conscious. Before, he had just loved the place for always giving him a way out (if only for a few moments), and the castle must have sensed it in his sighs of relief and the lightening of his footsteps. Draco couldn’t have expected it to do that again without his actually expressing any gratitude.

            Out loud or not. Since he was apparently talking to the castle now.

            “Thank you.”

            After another second, “Wait, are you still keeping me lost on purpose?”

            The castle didn’t respond, but Draco was certain he’d seen that tapestry at least three times since making it onto the fourth floor. Response enough.

            “Fine. I mean, I do need to figure out what I want to do. But I also need to find Harry-” A door appeared directly to his left.

            Draco looked around. “Really? That’s what got you to let me onto my own floor?”

            No response.

            Of course, it was possible he wasn’t being let onto his own floor. It was possible the castle was trying to tell him something else.

            Draco pulled open the door.

            Stairs. A long flight. Longer than one floor up.

            “You don’t have to help me anymore, you know,” he said softly, resting his right hand on the cool stone wall next to him. “If I’m incapable of figuring things out for myself by now, I don’t deserve more than a life of boredom.”

            The door creaked a few inches shut behind him.

            Draco sighed and started climbing.

            Regardless of what had inspired the castle to acknowledge him, Draco had a feeling that whatever was at the top of the stairs had nothing to do with Harry. Unless the castle was leading him straight to him, a possibility which was too depressing to bear thinking about (since it would be the equivalent of the castle shrugging and telling him he was fucked in the post-graduation department). Well. It could also be saying just go after Harry and figure out your life later, but that would be more again than Draco deserved.

            He reached the small landing at the top, reached for the door handle, and pushed.

            “Fuck.”

            Draco dropped to his knees, staring.

            He was across from the door to the Room of Hidden Things.

            He hadn’t had to walk past it. Hadn’t even had to think about it. At least not consciously. He couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a constant unconscious presence most of the time, maybe part of the reason he’d taken to wandering around outside the castle instead of inside it. Like he had before. Until he’d found the Room. And the Cabinet. And- fuck.

            Draco resisted the urge to say, ‘so everything does come back to Potter, then,’ because now he knew the castle would hear him. Not that he’d ever doubted it did. It just… hadn’t been as responsive as Myrtle.

            Until he’d found the door. The first time. Trying to hide himself from Snape because much as he loved the bastard he didn’t think he could stand one more lecture about serving the Dark Lord without breaking down sobbing or shouting in his face.

            Trying to hide himself. That’s not what he was doing now, though.

            “Oh, shut up,” he muttered then, because it had occurred to him that being unable to decide what to do with one’s life was sort of hiding oneself. Hiding oneself from oneself. Fucking philosophy.

            That wasn’t necessarily what it meant, though. It’d help if he could move. Or break eye contact with the streaks of soot in the pattern he somehow remembered because how could you forget the feeling of rough wood under your hand as you stumbled past it panting in shock and grieving to collapse on the floor a safe distance away from the thing that had just killed your friend and nearly taken your life as well.

            No. The Room hadn’t done that. Crabbe had.

            “Why did you bring me here?” Draco was upright, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stand.

            No answer.

            “Great conversation.” Draco took a shaky breath and forced himself to his feet. He felt hot and breathless and panicky, desperate, gasping. Another breath.

            It’s over, he reminded himself firmly. Fuck the Ministry and fuck the Prophet and fuck anyone who insisted on pretending with sidelong glances and disgusted looks in the streets that it wasn’t. He had wanted to turn to them, wanted to yell that yes, he was disgusted, of course he was disgusted. With his past self. With the things he’d done. But not with- not with himself anymore. Not with this version of himself.

            He was different.

            And if people didn’t want to see that then they could go fuck themselves.

            Was that the point of this little excursion? Reminding him not to care what other people thought? Because he hadn’t. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pack his trunk and get on the train and come back.

            Didn’t mean he was ready to face that on a larger scale, though. Something he didn’t have to seriously think about until he chose a career.

            He’d been sabotaging himself on purpose. To avoid having to think about this. The hardest thing to make sense of, the hardest thing to move on from, the hardest thing to integrate into wherever he was going in a way that didn’t include destroying it or pretending it hadn’t happened.

            He knew what he wanted otherwise. If none of those other things that might be easier started looking as attractive in practice as they had on paper (and they never would).

            So.

            Draco kept taking breaths until they stopped sounding ragged. Then he went up to the door.

            “I’m sorry, Vince.”

            He couldn’t open it. Wouldn’t.

            Draco turned and started down the familiar corridor back towards the fifth floor, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

            He knew the door would disappear.

            It always did.

 

            Draco spent the rest of the night in his room, forcing himself to leave only for glasses of water and a shower that lasted too long. Standing under the water and trying to expel the sight of the door from his mind had been a futile effort, though, and eventually he was back in bed, knees pulled up under too many blankets with a familiar book open across his lap and no chance of sleep in sight.

            He would have felt awful if he didn’t try, though. So he tried. Once at midnight, once at two, again at three, if he’d had to guess (by then he’d stopped checking the time). Eventually he ended up in the same position he was before, curled up and reading and reading and reading.

            He’d had the book since he was small. It was the one his mother used to teach him French. It was muggle, but that hadn’t seemed to matter even though she’d started reading it to him when the remnants of the first war were still fading. It made him happy and also terribly sad, which is why he didn’t read it often. Short enough to get through in a night, though.

            Except at three thirty (or whenever it was he’d finished the book) he still couldn’t sleep. Draco got up to use the bathroom again, and get more water. He opened the door slowly, stopping before it was fully open to avoid the creak of the hinges. He could have fixed them, but he liked the sound. It was like the wood floors at home, reassuring, making it impossible to come or go silently even if you wanted to.

            Harry was in the sitting room.

            He was asleep, mercifully, one arm flung over the side of the couch and the other holding a book open on his chest. Draco hadn’t found him like that in a while.

            He padded along to the bathroom, steps silenced by the carpet. That door didn’t creak, thank Merlin, and he was back out with his water in a few minutes.

            Draco was inches from his own doorway when he stopped and turned. He didn’t owe Harry anything. At least Harry didn’t think so.

            But he looked cold. And the fire was dead.

            Draco went into his room to replace the glass on his nightstand, grabbing a blanket from his nest as he went. Just like Potter to forget to bring one even though he’d probably known he was going to fall asleep there.

            Back in the sitting room, Draco draped the blanket over him carefully. He seemed to be in deeper sleep, harder to wake than the times he’d dozed off after those first few days when Draco had nudged him awake and told him to go to bed. His face was tranquil, all of the anger and frustration Draco had gotten used to again fallen away.

            Draco pulled his eyes away and went to his room.

            He left the door open, and the sound of Harry’s even breaths finally lulled him to sleep.

 

            In the morning Draco woke to find Potter up and dressed, too early. He stood in the doorway for a moment before Potter realized he was there, glanced up, stared at him. Picked up his books and made for the door.

            “You looked cold,” Draco said to the back of the portrait.

            Potter had gone.


	15. Promise

            “You should make up with Draco.”

            “We’re fine.”

            “Right. Sure. That explains why you've been sulking around the Gryffindor common room and not participating in any of our discussions despite being around us more often than you have been in weeks."

            Harry opened his mouth to protest.

            "I'm not saying you have to talk about it," Hermione continued quickly. "I'm just saying that, whatever it is, it doesn't seem like you're handling it in the most productive way."

            Like there was a productive way to get over the dissolution- even though he really hoped it wasn't that- of a maybe-romantic relationship with a former enemy. Key word being maybe. Because it meant he didn't have the slightest idea what he'd fucked up, beyond the fact that it had been great before he had.

            Maybe he should just tell Hermione. It wasn’t like she’d expect him to follow her advice. She knew him well enough not to expect that. “We aren’t talking.”

            “Okay.” Surprisingly descriptive of her desire for more information given it was a single word.

            “I guess I must have said something stupid. Or I sort of did. Or- I didn’t tell him what I wanted to do over the holidays and also didn’t tell him what was wrong apart from that. So he started freezing me out. We were talking. But it wasn’t- he was obviously still mad at me. And then he asked what was wrong again and I- he asked in a really git-y way, I guess, or I wasn’t thinking clearly when he did, and now we’re properly not talking.”

            Hermione thought for a moment. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

            Seeing as he’d already come that far. “I’m starting to like him more than I should and I don’t know what to do about it.”

            “Did you consider being honest with him?” When had Luna and Hermione started giving similar advice?

            Given the circumstances, though, Harry could give her a look. “It’s Malfoy.” And he hated using his last name but there it was.

            “Right. And you think he’s also mad about the holidays?”

            “Don’t look at me like that. We aren’t- _nothing’s happened_. It’s just that we’re friends now, so it makes a lot of sense for me to see him at some point.” It’d help if he could bring up the whole falling-back-into-the-apathetic-void thing, but he had managed not to let anyone know the full extent of that, except Draco, and telling Hermione would also mean admitting he was worried about not seeing her or Ron and that’d do nothing but make her feel bad and he wasn’t about to do that.

            “And you think at least some part of why you aren’t talking, or why he got angry before, is that you didn’t know? About the holidays?”

            “He’s not a complete arse. He wouldn’t be mad about my not knowing. He’d be angry that I wasn’t willing to discuss it at all.”

            Hermione was starting to look confused. Leave it to him and Draco, Harry thought wryly. “So because of that, and because you won’t tell him why you’re upset- which is because you aren’t willing to explain your feelings because you’re- not sure how he’ll handle it?”

            Harry nodded.

            “Because of those things, and since you refused to tell him what was wrong again, you’ve completely stopped talking?”

            “Yes.”

            “Did you consider that he might have been trying to give you space before?”

            “What?”

            “Do you think that maybe when he was being- I don’t know how you described it, being cold but still talking to you- that that was him trying to give you space? So you could have a chance to figure out what was wrong on your own or at least get to a point where you’d be able to explain something to him? Even if it was just holiday plans?”

            “Fuck.” That was absolutely what he’d been doing. Well. And being mad, but Harry was not one to deny anyone the right to let that feeling run its course. Would be pretty hypocritical of him if he was.

            Hermione must have recognized the look in his eyes. Years of practice. “Do you know where he is now?”

            Harry stood. “No. But I know where to look.” He grabbed his bag off the floor. Then, with as much sincerity as he could summon while his mind was roiling with too many thoughts at once, he said, “Thank you, Hermione.”

            “I hope you find him.” Not ‘I hope it works out.’ Telling Harry to be careful and not getting his hopes up but being supportive anyway.

            Ron was coming up one side of the table as Harry started down it. He waved at Harry, who was too distracted to do more than nod. A second later, though, just as he reached the Great Hall doors, Ron’s voice flew across the room loud enough for him to hear over the din. “Good luck, mate!”

            Harry turned back for a moment, smile flashing before a mental chorus of ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ replaced it, and then dashed off to get his cloak from his room.

 

            Harry had had the foresight to check the Map before going out, only to realize that Draco was not in the grounds.

            He was in the library. Which was not a good place to confront someone about anything.

            Harry paced as he waited, figuring it was best to wait until Draco was prepared for the possibility of running into him- which meant waiting until he finally came back to the room. It was the weekend, so that could take any number of hours. Would take hours, if Draco was putting in extra effort to avoid him that day.

            Thankfully, though, Harry didn’t have to wait too long; Draco finished whatever it was he was doing and headed up not a half an hour after Harry had arrived in their rooms.

            After a panicked few minutes of glancing around, Harry closed the Map and decided to sit on the sofa. It was not nearly as confrontational as he had initially wanted to be, but it was probably better if Draco didn’t feel like he was being ambushed when he came in.

            The door opened with its familiar swish, Draco seeming to falter for only a second before stepping inside.

            Harry said, "I don't want to fight with you anymore. Fighting with you is exhausting."

            A pause. Then, "Think it's because we're evenly matched?"

            Harry almost smiled. "Oh, shut up."

            "Why? I could've asked if you thought it was because I was better, and that definitely would have been worse." Draco came to sit on the couch a foot or so from Harry. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore, either.”

            Draco was looking at him, but Harry was seized with the familiar inability to know what to say, so he clasped his hands in his lap and waited.

            “Are we speaking to each other, again, then?”

            Harry met his eyes. “Yes.”

            “I wanted to find you the other day, but I didn’t-” Draco shook his head slightly. “Something happened. Nothing important, just…” He did not look like whatever had happened was unimportant, but he also didn’t look like he wanted to discuss it.

            “I’m sorry. About before. Hermione made me realize I was being an idiot and that you were probably just giving me space so I could come to terms with… things,” he finished lamely.

            “Is she still suspicious, or are we going to start sitting at the Gryffindor table more often?”

            Harry almost gasped with relief. Because Draco had definitely not reacted badly to the knowledge that Hermione knew something important about him, or about him and Harry, and Draco had said ‘we’ and people didn’t say that when they didn’t want to keep being… friends. Harry slid down onto the floor; sitting next to Draco and mostly avoiding eye contact to avoid blurting something stupid was not the most comfortable position at the moment. “I think I’ve told her to lay off enough times that she actually will. At least until the final homework lull before we’re drowning in NEWT reviews.”

            “You think there will be a lull? When half of us weren’t mentally present for the majority of our NEWT educations?”

            “I can dream. At least until Flitwick proves me wrong.”

            Draco laughed. Harry resisted the urge to return the gesture because it would have been a little hysterical since it’d be more a reaction to the realization that he’d missed Draco’s laugh than anything else. “That last class was horrendous,” Draco agreed.

            “It was almost as bad as when McGonagall threatened to take fifty points from the next student to interrupt her.”

            “She did seem a bit stressed that day.”

            “Possibly because she’s doing two full-time jobs at once.”

            “Possibly.” Draco nudged Harry and moved into the space behind him, so Harry’s back was against his legs instead of the sofa. And then his fingers were hovering at the base of Harry’s neck and Harry froze. “Tense, Potter?”

            “What…. oh.” Harry’s confusion stalled when Draco’s fingers began to ease the knots out of his neck. “How are you doing that?”

            “I know too many tense people.”

            “Yes. But I don’t know why-” Harry shook his head slightly. “It’s just that usually I don’t let people…”

            “Get too close? You’ve hugged Weasley in my sight more than I can remember hugging my mother.”

            “No.” Harry gave a little shake of his head again. “That’s different. People I don’t know, I mean.” Well. He didn’t exactly not know Draco.

            Draco’s mind had gone to the same place. “We’ve known each other for eight years.” He pressed a little harder, and Harry had to stifle a gasp. “Give or take.”

            Give. Definitely give. Because in the months that had passed since the beginning of term, they had gotten to know each other. Well enough for playful shoves and sitting back-to-back on the hearthrug despite the presence of cushiony chairs to lean against and going to each other’s house tables for half their meals without asking and legs tangling as they sprawled at either end of the sofa. And Draco had sat in Harry’s room two more times since that first time. And Harry had sat in his room once. And sometimes one of them slipped and their hands were touching and neither of them moved. Apart from the fact that until a few minutes ago they’d still been fighting, Draco touching him really wasn’t weird at all. And it felt amazing. Typically Harry went about his days not realizing how tense he was; he’d gotten used to it. Especially recently, when he’d missed having a person to joke away the tension with. Talking to his friends was fine, but it was different.

            And now, with the feeling of Draco’s fingers coaxing the ache from his neck… And his hands were so warm. Harry hadn't expected his hands to be warm. “Shame I didn’t come to my senses sooner.”

            They sat in silence for a while. Harry drifted in and out of sleepiness. Reveling in the warmth of the hands at his neck, and the deftness of the slender, surprisingly strong fingers…

            And then he was seeing flashes of wandlight, hearing screamed spells- “Ah!” He sat up in a jerk.

            Draco’s fingers immediately disappeared. “I’m sorry. Did I-”

            “No.” Making an effort to slow his breathing, Harry turned. Gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I nodded off. Happens sometimes.” He turned around again and eased slowly back to lean against Draco’s calves. “Sorry, I… Thanks.”

            “No problem. I get them too, sometimes. I’m sure they’re not as bad as yours.”

            “Don’t say that. I mean you don’t have to compare us like that. It isn’t fair. To you, I mean.”

            Harry could tell by the tone of Draco’s next words that he understood Harry was talking about more than how bad their respective nightmares were. “Why not, Potter? You did everything right. Followed Dumbledore’s every directive, sacrificed whatever was necessary to win the war. I didn’t.”

            “You were trying to protect your family.”

            “That wouldn’t have meant anything if Voldemort had won.”

            “Yes it would,” Harry said, frustrated. “You can’t be considered personally responsible for how things turned out. Neither can your family,” voice quiet.

            “For what they did? Of course they can. I’m surprised I escaped Azkaban.” Before Harry had a chance to protest, Draco continued, “I was a little curious, actually. About why you did it.”

            Harry had to check his frustration as he replied, “Your family was acting under fear of Voldemort. We all were. And…” Harry’s tone shifted, some of the anger draining away. “I thought it was obvious.”

            And they were back to arguing about it. Again. “I’m the one that owed you, Potter.”

            “No. I’m the one who… I did just as many terrible things to you, Draco. Worse. I don’t expect the Room of Requirement- I don’t fully understand how this whole life debt thing works, but I do know I owed you after nearly taking yours.”

            “No. If anything, I… That was an accident. I wouldn’t count that as a life debt. And I know that it’s just some noble Gryffindor thing, or you thing, saving everyone, but…” He dropped his voice to almost a whisper. “No one would have faulted you if you hadn’t. You could have died.”

            “So could you. You could have died the night you lied and said it wasn’t me.”

            “Few people would have missed me.”

            “I would have.”

            “What?” The word was filled with skepticism.

            “It may not make sense to you- or maybe you’re the only one who can really get this, but- if you were gone, this year wouldn’t have been the same. Hogwarts wouldn’t have been the same if I wasn’t constantly trying to one-up you,” Harry's tone turned light at the end.

            “I can’t say the thought of a seventh year lacking the ability to insult you at will sounds very appealing.” Draco shifted and slid down to sit on the floor beside him, warm and reassuring and solid. Shoulders touching. “Are you coming over during the holidays?”

            “I already said I would. Just because I’m shit at planning doesn’t mean- yeah. Of course I am.”

            “Good. Because I’ve been refusing to give Pansy more than two days and I think it’ll be easier to fend her off if I’m doing more than freezing my arse off in the gardens and having tea with my mother.”

            “What makes you think I won’t want to freeze my arse off in the gardens and have tea with your mother?”

            Draco stared.

            “Your mother is lovely.”

            “You’re right. She’s going to love you.”

            “She already loves me.”

            “For saving me.”

            Harry didn’t refute it, because he couldn’t and didn’t want to. After a minute he said, “I didn’t have to come back.”

            “I’m glad you did.”

            “So am I.”

            A pause. “I don’t know if I would have.”

            Harry knew that feeling, and it was worse than maybe any of the other fears he’d ever had. “I don’t ever want to doubt that again. I wouldn’t want someone else to doubt it.” He turned to look at Draco. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

            Draco met his gaze. “So am I.”

            Harry held his eyes for a too-intense moment, then said, “Did I miss anything? Anything interesting happen while I was being an idiot, I mean?”

            Draco’s eyes flitted away, but he was almost smiling. “Not really. Apart from your spilling something to Granger, did anything interesting happen to you?”

            “No. Mostly I just hung out with her and Ron while they were planning their trip.”

            “To Australia?” Draco didn't know much about it, but Harry'd told him they were going far enough away that they wouldn't be around for the holiday.

            Harry nodded. “I’m going to miss them. I won’t be alone, I just…” Harry thought of his and Hermione’s last Christmas and shook his head. “I’ve always had one of them even when things were fucked.”

            “You have me this year. If that’s any consolation.”

            “Yeah?” But Draco still wasn’t looking at him, so Harry added, “Promise?”

            Draco caught his challenging expression and responded with sincerity. “Yes.”

            Harry blushed and was seized with the sudden urge to be anywhere else. “Does this mean we have to get each other Christmas presents?”

            Draco laughed. “I hope not. I’m still getting you one, anyway, because it’s bad manners to show up at someone’s house without anything. Can’t say whether or not I’ll be able to come up with an actual gift in time, though.”

            “I don’t really need anything. We should just bring food. I mean, I guess people bring wine, but I don’t know anything about wine and have a feeling my life would get a lot more complicated if I was even tipsy around you, so…”

            “You’re making me want to bring you wine. Though that would probably lead to the two of us attempting to outdrink each other and I don’t think that would turn out much better for me than it would for you.”

            Harry grinned. They were back to normal. Or whatever normal was for them, he amended. Because there was not a snitch’s chance in hell Draco would say anything that could be considered an admission of weakness around Harry if they were still fighting. “Food it is, then. Does your mother like sweets or should I just go with fancy bread?”

            “First off, I would prefer you didn’t ruin the surprise like this. It’s not in the gift-giving spirit at all. Second, my mother’s ears must be burning, because this has to be the third time you’ve brought her up in this conversation. Also, since it’s clear at this point that the two of you get along very well, I am both surprised that you don’t already know her tastes and certain that no matter what you bring, she’ll love you all the more for it.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Draco said quickly, “Regifting food is cheating.”

            Pretending he wasn’t about to ask if he could bring something Mrs. Weasley made in a really convoluted way, Harry said, “You can’t regift food.”

            “Coming from someone else I would believe that. Coming from you it sounds like a failure to own up to your creativity.”

            “You just said I couldn’t regift food and now you’re accusing me of wasting my creative talents by not coming up with a way how?”

            “I don’t have to make sense to be right.”

            “Doesn’t mean you aren’t a pain in the arse,” Harry muttered.

            “You’re creative and I’m a pain in the arse. What a talented pair we make.”

            “Given most of our interactions require my creativity to work around whatever rhetorical nonsense you’re using to annoy me-”

            “You can’t deny it’s entertaining.”

            Which he couldn’t, so Harry shut up and sat there for a while until one of them made an excuse about homework and they both went off to get books and study as if they’d never fought. Except this time was better, because Harry knew he wouldn’t be spending the holidays pacing around Grimmauld Place alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before the holidays!


	16. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco Realizes Things
> 
> this isn't an official chapter summary because I feel like 'sleeplessness resolved better' would be accurate but I don't wanna... yeah
> 
> I love this chapter with all my heart I hope you enjoy it

            Draco couldn’t actually remember which of them had suggested homework was necessary. He wanted to kick whichever of them it was, though. Because sitting on the floor with his whole right arm pressed against Harry’s left one and their knees almost touching was infinitely better than being three feet away from each other across the table. His whole right side had got a pleasant sort of tingle, warm and comfortable and familiar, and that had gone when they’d moved away. Draco couldn’t stop thinking about it. And even before that, of the feel of unexpectedly soft skin relaxing under his coaxing touch (and Merlin fucking hell he regretted having read so many romance novels last summer). All of it. All of it was good. And Draco wanted more.

            He wanted Harry to keep leaning against him. Or to reach out and take his hand. Less than inches. They had been less than inches away.

            Now the best he could do was stretch out his foot under the table to brush Harry’s, but that would be distracting and totally defeat the purpose of their attempting to study. For him at least. It was already difficult not to think about everything that had happened in those few m-

            Oh, god. He was in love with Potter.

            No. Ridiculous. It was just a crush. Love had to be mutual. Or at the very least _plausible_. This was… something else. It wasn’t like there was a possibility Harry felt the same, at any rate. He was probably… probably thinking of how awful the idea was… right then. Draco looked up to see Harry’s eyes dart down from Draco's face and back to his history book. A stare Draco hadn’t even noticed because he’d been attempting to convince himself that Harry looking at him like that all the time was probably not romantic and he should stop wondering if it was.

            Fuck.

            Arguments bounced back and forth in Draco’s head. He’d basically said he fancied men as well as women. In front of Harry. Multiple times. He hadn’t come out or anything, but it was no secret he’d never cared who he fell in love with (his unnervingly optimistic side pointed out with a flash to those two horrible weeks he had dated Blaise, which he was pretty certain Harry had also noticed). _Stoking the fires of this stupid idea._

            A month ago Draco was still surprised Harry could stand to be in the same room as him.

            But if he'd ever really hated you, Draco reasoned, he wouldn’t have saved your life. That wasn’t just some stupid Gryffindor savior complex. Harry had said it himself. He wanted to save Draco. Hell, his friends probably nearly killed him for it afterwards. But he did it anyway. Because he saw the good in people.

            With you always being the exception, Draco reminded himself. Death Eaters didn’t exactly count on the list of people who deserved saving. Or had good in them.

            But he had done it to save his family. That felt as true when he'd said it to Harry as it had when he’d said it at his trial.

            Harry seemed to understand that. He was no stranger to saving people he loved. How many incidents had Draco read about in the Prophet, or witnessed secondhand at school? Harry Potter saves now-ex-girlfriend from Basilisk, Harry Potter saves beloved head of the Weasley clan from same Basilisk? And then there was that time with the lake (though Draco wouldn’t have classified Harry’s assistance of Fleur as anything more than gallantry). Harry had stuck around to make sure all his friends were safe. And there was whatever had happened with his banished cousin, Sirius, and all those times Harry's Quidditch-loving arse had done something, taken his eyes of the Snitch in the middle of a match, all for the sake of some teammate or other.

            And there was the fact that Draco had been unable to doubt, after having his first proper conversation with Harry however many months ago, that these were all acts of love and not some misguided hero complex.

            Draco was incapable of denying that Harry’s capacity for love was impressive. Subtle on the surface, maybe, but impressive in its depth. And, despite the rumors of Death Eaters’ emotional incapacity, Draco couldn’t have described the continual loyalty he felt towards his father (despite his not having done more to keep him away from Voldemort) or the occasional quiet mangled gasps of concern Lucius emitted every time the Dark Lord suggested some task for Draco as anything other than love. He knew his mother loved him. She’d wanted to leave the Dark Lord for years. Not for her and Lucius- for Draco. When that became impossible, she’d done as much as she could to keep him safe within the confines of service to the Dark Lord. And it was love- poorly-expressed though it may have been- that had gotten them so deeply involved in the first place. Can’t betray this family member, or that close friend. The only option left had been to stay.

            Love was tricky. Something to be wary of, in Draco’s experience.

            So how could he be entertaining the idea that he might feel that way about a boy who had once been his sworn enemy? Who he had once thought he hated more than anything-

            -and now knew he had only sort of hated because the anger had had nowhere else to go.

            That was it, wasn’t it? Can’t hate the Dark Lord lest you be killed, can’t hate the parents who are doing their best to help you or the people who are supposed to be guiding you to acclaim and victory. So who is there left to hate?

            Your Quidditch rival. Your everything rival. The boy you happen to know more about than any other, if not for the fact of his fame, because his success seems to plague you at every turn, to stand in stark opposition to yours, to come at all the wrong moments, when nothing you do seems right, when envy for the way he seems to hold it all together- even in the middle of a damned _war_ -

            Those were the worst times. Things weren’t the greatest, now, either, but Draco would take postwar prejudice over constant terror. Anything was better than those days in which a single objective drove his entire existence, pushing him to what felt like the limits of his sanity, to the limits of what he was capable of doing…

            But he wasn't thinking about that. Not now. He was thinking about Harry. About how, when you envied someone, some part of that envy had to be admiration. And how admiration was astonishingly close to obsession. Had become obsession, more than once, for them.

            And then there was the fact that obsession and infatuation went hand in hand and mutual infatuation was basically imitation love. And that whatever they had now was not infatuation, thus not imitation anything.

            It’s not love, either, Draco told himself firmly. Just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it-

            Harry’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. “You’ve been on that page for ten minutes.”

            Draco looked up. “Unfortunately I’m not as interested in Runes as you are in History of Magic. Unless you have also been on the same page for ten minutes?”

            Harry grinned and swung his book shut. “Worth the attempt, I guess. I’m going to start packing.”

            “We’ve got a week left,” Draco protested to his retreating back.

            “Yes,” Harry agreed, spinning around to face him, “but I’m actually looking forward to it, now.”

            Cute wonderful flirting-back arsehole. Not that what Draco had said before counted as flirting, but he’d been flirting on purpose for a solid month leading up to the argument. “Do you think if I spend a few hours around you without homework- granted that's even possible this Christmas- you'll finally start making sense?”

            “Nope,” Harry said happily, retreating into his room.

            “Blaise would’ve taken the bait,” Draco said under his breath. He'd come so close to asking Harry out it was a miracle Harry hadn't said anything.

            Harry’s head popped into the doorway. “What?”

            “Nothing.” Because Draco had absolutely _not_ hoped that he would hear that at all not even slightly. He just liked talking to himself.

            Harry got back to his premature packing and Draco considered how lovely the holiday was going to be. The two of them long London blocks from any obligations or anyone either of them knew or who knew either of them. The two of them in the middle of Wiltshire, very nearly the middle of nowhere, with only miles of uninhabited land and Draco’s highly considerate mother for company.

            Words did not exist to accurately describe how Draco felt about that.

 

            To Draco’s undying gratitude, the week flew by; before he knew it, he was sitting in a chair on Friday night, having no idea what to do with himself since Professor Sinistra had cancelled their last Astronomy class of term with an emphatic request that none of them miss the morning train.

            It was getting late. Harry was nowhere to be found (probably out flying), and Draco hadn't started packing. He flung open his empty trunk and reminded himself it'd be easier than if he waited 'til morning.

            After twenty minutes of moving things into and out of his trunk, though, Draco decided he didn't care what he brought home and that he could figure it out tomorrow. It wasn't like the train left _that_ early.

            He had already showered and gotten through half of a book he was reading for entertainment instead of homework when Harry finally reappeared.

            "Enjoying the night off?" Draco asked, taking in Harry's messier-than-usual hair, winter cloak, and the two melting snowflakes clinging to one lens of his glasses.

            "I was- wait, shouldn't you be asleep?"

            Draco shrugged. "I only started getting tired a few minutes ago."

            "Right. Well, I'm showering."

            "Were you flying?"

            "No," Harry said from behind his mostly-closed door. "I was visiting Hagrid." He swung the door open and crossed the room, wearing only a bath towel.

            Draco made a noncommittal noise and went back to his book. By the time Harry had finished, Draco had moved to his bed. He kept the door open.

            After an hour of alternating reading with failed attempts to sleep, Draco glanced up to see Harry sprawling on the sofa. He didn't have a book or anything to do, he was just... apparently also unable to sleep.

            Draco set his book on his nightstand, slipped into a more upright position, and said, "Come here."

            Harry turned to look at him over the arm of the sofa. "What?"

            "You don't even have a blanket."

            Harry rose and stepped just inside Draco's room. Draco threw the covers back and stared at him.

            "Oh," Harry said.

            "It's easier to sleep in a bed. If it can't be your bed..."

            "Oh," Harry said again.

            "If you'd rather take a blanket and pretend I never offered-" Draco began.

            But Harry was already coming around the side of the bed. He sat on the edge. "Is this like a friend thing?"

            "Do you want it to be?"

            "No."

            "Me neither." Draco slipped onto his side and patted the space in front of him.

            "Can I ask why I'm the little spoon?" Harry said, stretching out on the mattress in front of Draco.

            "You're shorter. And you're the one who can't sleep."

            "It looks like you can't sleep, either. I mean, you're awake right now."

            "Do you have a problem being the little spoon?"

            Draco could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Not particularly."

            "So this is fine, then?"

            "Hang on."

            Draco tensed, scared that Harry had changed his mind.

            But then Harry scooted closer until his back was against Draco's chest. "Much better."

            Draco hummed and wrapped an arm around Harry, lacing their fingers together.

            "This is the first time we've properly held hands."

            "Go to sleep." Draco leaned up to kiss his shoulder. Harry tensed. Draco brushed a thumb over his hand. "What's wrong?"

            "That was the first time you kissed me."

            "Go to sleep. We'll discuss this in the morning."

            "Before we get into different train cars with friends who we'll want to avoid mentioning this to?"

            Oh. "Do you not want to mention it?"

            "You do?" Harry wriggled free of Draco's arm.

            "We're doing this now?"

            "Yes, we're doing this now," Harry said, facing him.

            "You want to keep ignoring our friends?"

            "Until we've moved past only having just admitted to each other we want to be more than friends, which we did about five seconds ago... yes."

            "Oh." Draco didn't want to deal with them sooner than they had to, either. "We'll have to keep the staring at a minimum, then. Unless we want them to be more suspicious than they already are."

            "Yeah. And until we figure out... yeah."

            "So did you want to get back to that and going to sleep, or are we going to be spending the night planning the organic progression of our relationship from crush-stricken idiots to people who are actually dating?"

            Harry rolled over and snuggled up next to Draco again.

            Draco put his arm back and closed his eyes.

            "You kissed me."

            "That wasn't a kiss."

            "It was something," Harry insisted sleepily.

            "Go to sleep, Potter."

            "I will if you will."

            Draco tightened his arm a little and took a slow breath, feeling more relaxed than he had all night. Or all week, if he was being honest with himself.

            "Goodnight, Draco," Harry breathed.

            "Goodnight, Harry."

            It was only another minute before both of them were asleep.

 

            "Where'd you go?"

            "I had to pee."

            "That's not a good enough excuse." Draco forced his eyes open and found Harry standing at the foot of the bed.

            "Are you packed?"

            "Mostly."

            "It's nine thirty. So you should probably-"

            "Why didn't you wake me up?" Draco was shoving the blankets off.

            "Because we've both got Apparition licenses and could probably arrange to Floo our trunks back if we had to. Also don't you usually set an alarm?"

            "I forgot. Don't usually have to get up on Saturdays." Draco grabbed the clothes he'd had the forethought to pick out the night before and headed to the bathroom, closing the door a little louder than he would have liked.

            "Sorry," Harry's voice came through the door.

            "You are not listening to me pee."

            "Actually I'm waiting-"

            "Go get dressed or something!"

            A few minutes later, Draco returned to his room, still brushing his teeth, and started throwing things haphazardly into his open trunk.

            Harry appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and looking unconcerned. "Do you want help with that?"

            "No." Draco dropped the pair of socks he'd been holding and returned to the bathroom to rinse his mouth. He put his toothbrush back and flashed a smile. "But thank you for offering."

            "This is nice," Harry said, leaning in the doorway. "I don't feel nervous at all around you anymore. Well, maybe a little, but it's only good nerves now."

            "All we had to do to get here was completely stop talking to each other and realize how awful it was." Draco edged past him and went back to packing.

            "So, what are we going to do on the train?"

            "Nothing different? I mean, I know we're basically engaged now, but that doesn't actually mean anything around other people until we want it to."

            "What about when we're alone?"

            "Like now or like in a few days when we see each other again?" Draco was still a little worried that if they went more than a few _hours_ without seeing each other one of them would come to their senses and decide this was a terrible idea, but he wasn't about to admit that to Harry, so-

            "Whichever." Harry was leaning in Draco's doorway, now, and there was a glint in his gorgeous green eyes that was absolutely unfair.

            Both of them jumped at the sound of Ron's voice. "Harry?"

            Draco went back to packing and Harry spun around. "You're going?" he asked the just-arrived Ron and Hermione.

            "Portkey out of Hogsmeade in forty minutes," Hermione said.

            They talked for a few minutes before Draco was startled by someone addressing him.

            "Have a lovely holiday, Draco," Hermione said brightly.

            "Thanks. You too," Draco said, still a bit startled.

            "Hope your Christmas is better than Harry's," added Ron.

            Before Draco could ask what that meant, Harry said, "Your family is great, Ron."

            "How many times have you dealt with them alone before?"

            "I'll have Ginny. And Luna."

            "Good luck with that. See you in January."

            With that, the two of them went over to the door, picked up their bags (presumably easier to transport thousands of miles than trunks), and bid Harry goodbye.

            "Are you almost finished? We should probably get down to breakfast."

            Draco cast one last glance around his room, then shut his trunk. "Let's go."

 

            The train ride was significantly easier than Draco would have expected, given that Harry opted to sit with the Slytherin gang instead of some of his other friends. They had a pleasant conversation, Pansy only making three suggestive comments the whole way, and Blaise's melodrama was entertaining.

            When they started pulling things from luggage racks and bidding each other temporary farewells, Draco realized he had no idea what he and Harry were supposed to do. But then Harry pulled Draco in for a quick hug as everyone was passing each other around and it didn't seem awkward or weird at all.

            Except for the part where Draco felt his heart rate double when Harry's hand snaked around his back.

            "Floo me," Draco said.

            "I will."

            "And you," he said, turning to Pansy, "need to OWL me with _details_."

            "I'm sure I'll know by Monday. At the latest," she added when Draco broadcast annoyance.

            They said their goodbyes, stepped out onto the platform, and went their separate ways. Draco's mother was waiting for him; she greeted him with a hug and an assurance that they had two lovely weeks ahead of them.

            Once they’d gotten home and had dinner, they talked late into the night. His mother was immersed in the process of making amends, as she’d promised she would during the trial if they let her, and rebuilding the family name. She limited mentions of Draco’s future to gentle nudges that didn’t occur often enough for him to be put off by them. After one of these he reassured her that he had an idea of where he was going after Hogwarts, and, even though she didn’t press him for information, he found himself happy to share it. Nothing about the Room or that day or Harry (apart from what came up anyway since they saw each other every day).

            It was like it had been that year before the war, actually, except it was easier to find things to talk about. Because things had changed. Because they had changed.


	17. Shopping

            Grimmauld Place was not nearly as grim as Harry remembered it.

            Kreacher had kept the place spotless, like always, but he’d also opened all the curtains- the curtains Harry had kept mostly closed despite the oppressive heat of long summer days. Now that he’d gotten used to the drafty dim corridors of the castle again, it was nice to be somewhere close and familiar and warm.

            For a second Harry remembered coming home after the war and- yes this was home now and yes it had been then- laughing because apart from the trials and the favors to Kingsley he didn’t have to _be_ anywhere. Which had been equal parts liberating and confusing.

            Harry hadn't exactly done well with that combination. Two weeks with no responsibilities, or almost none, stretched ahead of him. Except no Ron and Hermione this time. But this was shorter than the summer and he had Draco now. Draco who he wasn’t going to Floo that night because he probably wanted to enjoy being home. Harry also wanted that- even if the sight of his favorite sofa for checking out of reality made his stomach turn.

            You’ll be fine, Harry told himself. You have gifts to buy the next few days and plenty of things to do around here.

            And Draco. Who likes you enough to invite you into his bed.

            Harry decided to wait for an owl from Ron and Hermione rather than send the first letter- apart from a card with their Christmas gifts. It’d be better that way. He didn’t want to stress them out any more than they already were, or worry them.

            He could send a card to Draco and Narcissa, too. It’d be nice. 

            “Kreacher?"

            Kreacher appeared in front of him. “Yes, Master Harry?” 

            “Do we have any Christmas cards?” 

            “Does Master Harry mean the pre-made ones that are traditionally sent out during the holidays?” 

            “Yes. Those.” 

            “Mistress,” Kreacher said with a little frown, no doubt remembering the removal of the bit of wall upstairs that had Walburga’s portrait permanently stuck onto it, “stopped sending cards when the young masters were still in school.” 

            “Right. I’m going out to buy some, then.” 

            “Will Master Harry be wanting dinner ready when he returns?” 

            “No. Thank you for taking care of the house while I was gone,” Harry added, feeling a pang of guilt that he hadn't said something to Kreacher the second he'd stepped in the door.

            “It is Kreacher’s duty to serve the noble and most ancient House of Black.” Which was what he always said, but he wouldn’t take clothes, and he was deeply attached to the house, so Harry made a point of thanking him anyway. Harry resolved to get Kreacher a non-clothes present as he stepped out of the house.

            The streets were so different from Hogwarts, so different from Hogsmeade, that Harry spent a good five minutes on the sidewalk disoriented before he blinked and turned the direction he'd meant to be going. There was no one around his neighborhood in the middle of the day save a few parents out with their children, but as he got nearer to the river the stream of professionals on break and wayward holiday shoppers became harder to navigate.                                                                                                           

            He could feel the breeze coming from the open space on the nearby water, and within a few minutes he was following it west, towards all the muggle shopping areas and one of the larger wizard areas of the city. Harry didn’t intend to drift far from muggle London, maybe not leave it at all; it was that part that he liked more, despite the wonders of Diagon Alley. There was a perfect anonymity out among so many people that he couldn't hope to find in wizard anywhere.

            Two hours later, windblown and exhausted, Harry traipsed back up to Grimmauld Place. He’d considered taking a bus or the tube, but people were still streaming home from work. He went with some muttered wandless lightening charms for the bags instead.

            Harry was surprised by how hungry he was and almost got all the way back before remembering he'd specifically told Kreacher he didn't want anything; he ducked into a fast food place, too tired to consider anything else, and dragged his food and his bags up to the drawing room to hopefully avoid wistful glances from Kreacher.

            After eating, going over the things he'd bought, and ten minutes sprawled on the sofa too tired to move, his Floo rang.

            "Hello? Oh. Draco. Hi."

            "I told you to Floo me."

            "I thought you meant- not today."

            Draco shrugged. "I'm impatient."

            They sat there staring at each other for a minute.

            “So…” Harry trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

            “When can I come over?”

            “What, no invitation to the Manor?”

            “I rather thought you’d like to hang all over each other a bit more, and possibly also sort out what we’re doing with each other, before having to meet my mother again.”

            “Right.” It appeared that Harry had neglected to think of the issues as related. Which they were, because meeting Draco's mother would be different as a friend than it would be as... more than that. He'd never got that far in a relationship before; he'd known Mrs. Weasley since he was twelve. Then again, this wasn't so much reaching some arbitrary milestone as it was needing to be introduced to someone because you were in their house. “You can come whenever, but I wasn’t planning on being here constantly over the next few days. I've got Christmas shopping to do.”

            “How about Monday?”

            “Er… Alright. When?”

            “I could be persuaded to get up before noon if it meant I’d get to be here by then.”

            Harry took a moment to recover, then said, “Was your flirting this obvious before, or am I only just now noticing it?”

            Draco shrugged.

            Harry beamed his amusement. “Noon’s fine, then.”

            “I’m looking forward to it.” And he disappeared from the fire with a positively lascivious smile.

            Harry wondered how on earth he was going to sleep after that.

 

            Later he decided Kreacher must have drugged his tea, because Harry slept for eleven hours with no nightmares.

            It was impossible that his first decent night’s sleep in ages- that spent next to Draco, no less- would be followed by another night of actual sleep. He’d lain in bed reading for at least two hours before every other thought stopped being about Draco, and even then he’d still been distracted.

            Despite Harry’s brain’s insistence on continuing to obsess over Draco, he decided it would be a good idea to finish shopping before the last possible second. Especially since he was holding out hope that he’d stumble across the perfect gift for Draco and be able to surprise him.

            So it was back out into London on Sunday, except this time Harry directed his steps towards Diagon Alley. He cast a Notice-Me-Not and found it easier than usual to weave around shoppers in the packed street; they were all too busy to look directly at him, and they weren’t going to look twice anyway with the charm.

            Unless they smashed into him.

            “Sorry,” Harry said hastily, already bending to pick up the dropped parcel.

            “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. Highly flammable.”

            Harry picked it up anyway and straightened, handing it to Draco. “Making a habit of walking into me?”

            “I think that was your fault. And it’d be easier not to crash if we were holding hands.”

            “That’d defeat the purpose of the charm, wouldn’t it?” Harry was a little breathless.

            “Didn't even realize you were using one. I’ve got one on, too. And why can't we hold hands? We’d look like one of the other nondescript gay couples parading down Diagon.”

            Harry smiled. “You seem preoccupied with the idea of holding my hand.”

            “Yes.”

            “At risk of our charms backfiring in a place that, while reasonably tolerant, has not exactly been a leader in that area.”

            Draco looked him up and down in a way that should be illegal. “History of Magic suits you.”

            “Blue suits you.”

            Draco blushed.

            “I think it’s my favorite color,” Harry added for good measure.

            “Tired of red?”

            Harry reached out to barely brush his cheek. “Pink’s alright, as well.”

            Draco rolled his eyes, caught Harry’s hand, and lowered it. Didn’t let go. “I wasn’t serious about sabotaging the charms. Can you imagine?”

            Harry grimaced. “Yes.”

            Draco sighed and dropped his hand. Harry resisted the urge to make a sound of distress and focused on Draco’s words instead. “I should go. I’ve got a lunch date.”

            “It's early,” Harry commented.

            “True.”

            “Do you have things to do?”

            “Apart from lunch? No. But I wouldn’t want to risk-”

            “We can go out to the muggle part.”

            Draco bit his lip. “How long would that take?”

            “I won’t make you late to lunch.”

            “You could come,” Draco said, unexpectedly quiet.

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “It’s just Pansy. We’re planning our two-day festival of obscenity.”

            Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

            Draco held his eyes. “You wouldn’t be intruding. We’ll probably reminisce most of the time, anyway. I’m sure it’ll be entertaining for you.”

            “Will Pansy-” Harry started.

            “Stop trying to get yourself uninvited,” Draco said, reaching with his left hand for Harry’s right.

            Harry glanced up in surprise. “Dr-”

            “Apparate me to muggle London and we won’t have to worry about it,” Draco said. Harry hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten to his ear. He had been distracted enough to almost say Draco’s name in the middle of the street.

            “Alright,” Harry said, and apparated them. Still blinking away the slight disorientation, “Where are you meeting Pansy?”

            “Small muggle place, a café we found near- well, I suppose it’s near yours, actually,” Draco said with amusement. “Where are we?”

            “Sorry- How do you know where I live?”

            “Family inheritance. Heard about it when-” Draco cut off, suddenly uncertain.

            Harry met his eyes. “You can talk about it, if you want. I don’t mind.”

            “Heard about it when Aunt Bella died,” Draco finished, the name coming out flat.

            “I never thought you might’ve been in my house. Kind of weird.”

            Draco smiled. “I think it’s kind of weird that you talk about it like a middle-aged history professor who’s lived there ten years.”

            “Shut up,” Harry said, bumping his impossibly-close shoulder. Because they were still holding hands.

            “Are you going to tell me where we are?” Draco bumped him back.

Harry was possibly losing control of his capability for rational thought. Which was fine, really. “Farther up in Islington. I thought you’d like it because it’s got a better atmosphere than Oxford Street and about a fifth of the people.”

            “I thought you were going to take me to Portobello Road.”

            Harry was torn between amusement that Draco knew what that was and annoyance at what he was pretty sure was an insult. “There’s lovely bakeries down Portobello Road.”

            “I was only joking,” Draco said, and leaned sideways to kiss his cheek.

            Harry actually did make a sound of distress at that. “You keep kissing me.”

            “Yes,” Draco said. “Would you like me to stop? I rather thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

            Harry made a noise again.

            “I’ll wait for your answer,” Draco said solemnly, turning back towards the road. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

            “We’re up the high street. Is Pansy’s place north or south of here?”

            Draco shrugged. “I’ll let you hold your present if you promise not to shake it, and then I can do a Point Me.”

            “Hold on. I had to use a million of them in the Triwizard maze.” Harry dropped Draco’s hand to pull out his wand. “Yeah. She’s south. I can do one for the place. What’s the name?”

            “Don’t remember.”

            Harry sighed and shoved his wand back in his pocket.

            “Harry Potter worried he won’t be able to hunt down a classmate?” Draco grabbed his hand again and squeezed. “That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

            “How much time did you say we had?”

            “An hour or two? Pansy’s always late.”

            Harry dragged him off down the street and was pleased to find that Draco did like the shops and seemed rather averse to the idea of letting go of his hand. Harry liked that he was touching Draco, being- out with him was probably the wrong thing to say but he couldn’t think of a better word for it and they were out in the going out sense so being out to strangers only didn’t make the word that much of a stretch. He liked the way they pulled each other along, hands fitting back together minutes after one of them let go and almost never being out of sight and _acknowledging it_ and _not caring_ beyond the fact that Harry’s heart slipped a little in surprise every time Draco took his hand again.

            By the time they had to start worrying about Pansy, they were in an area Draco had been before, and he led Harry around a busy corner and towards an empty-looking café.

            “Wait,” Harry stopped walking, his hand pulling Draco to a halt.

            Draco screwed up his face in mock-tragedy and dropped his hand.

            “You agreed. Yesterday,” Harry added. It felt like longer. Possibly because there had been something inevitable about the way they’d been leaning closer and closer into each other for months.

            “She’s going to know,” Draco said, sounding so certain Harry almost dropped it.

            Almost. “She’s also going to tell people. Do you want to give her proof?”

            “She’ll only tell Serena and… maybe Blaise. You’re right we shouldn’t give her proof.”

            “I believe we have plans tomorrow,” Harry said.

            Draco’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “I suppose it's fine, then,” and turned on his heel and went the few steps past the window and into the café.

            How did his eyes do that when it was so _cloudy_?

            A bell chimed when Harry went in. There were three occupied tables in the place, Draco taking a seat at the one that contained Pansy. He was giving her his full attention as Harry approached, apart from the fact that he’d also stuck out his leg to drag a chair up because Pansy hadn’t expected Harry.

            “Hello Pansy. You know, I don’t have to-”

            “Nonsense.” Her eyes flashed in a way that ordered him to sit.

            Draco said, still not sparing him a glance, “He’s tried to uninvite himself three other times.”

            “Perhaps he’s trying to get rid of you.”

            “It was _once_ ,” Harry said to Draco. Then, to Pansy, “I think I’ll keep him. Even if he is a massive pain in the arse.”

            Draco kicked Harry under the table, except Pansy was also kicking Draco, so there was a moment of confusion when everyone got kicked- Harry had to retaliate- and then the little vase of flowers stopped shaking and Harry glanced between Draco and Pansy to find Draco glaring and Pansy wearing a devious grin.

            “Anyway,” Draco said with exaggerated slowness, finally tearing his eyes away from Pansy, “as I was saying, we met by chance and I decided to afford you the rare opportunity to see how the other half lives, which is to say, licentious beyond measure.”

            Harry grinned. “You’re going to get drunk and tell dramatic versions of the things you claimed I’d hear coming to lunch, aren’t you?”

            “It’s a sacred institution. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, given you laugh in the face of every school rule ever written,” Draco said, as Pansy said, “You’ve an eye for the sharp ones, Draco.”

            Harry decided Pansy’s ability to relay conversations word-for-word didn’t count as proof as long as he and Draco weren’t outright incriminating themselves. “I thought you liked that about me, Draco. And I don’t know why you don’t invite me to join you and Pansy more often. She’s lovely.”

            Pansy turned to Harry as Draco stared. “We should have tea sometime, Harry. And thank you. I do my best, you know.”

            Lunch was more of the same after that. Pansy sided with Harry a shade more often than she did against both of them- she almost never sided with Draco- as they went through a range of ridiculous, convoluted arguments that landed Harry bruises on both legs. Pansy and Draco must have made plans at some point, though, because, as they all stood to leave, Draco said, “I’ll see you Friday, then?”

            “Bright and early.”

            “Two pm is not bright and early,” protested Draco.

            “I believe you called noon early yesterday,” Harry said.

            Draco tilted his head back and sighed. “Are you going to make me endure your presence into this afternoon, or is this where we part?”

            “I’ve got to get your gift, actually,” Harry said. “See you tomorrow.” He brushed Draco’s arm as he left.

            Pansy might have made an excited little gasp as he went out.

            Well. Harry could survive the Triwizard Tournament and the Chamber of Secrets. He could survive this.


	18. Not Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not in any conventional sense of the word, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me until tonight to post- rough last couple days, unfortunately. This is my finals week, so I might be a bit delayed in posting the next chapter. After that I might be able to double-drop some, though, since it'll be summer. Thank you so much for reading!!!

            Convincing Pansy that there was nothing going on between him and Harry was impossible. Draco managed to secure her smiling agreement not to say anything before they parted. Best he could have hoped for given the circumstances, he supposed.

            And he might have enjoyed the idea of Pansy knowing just a little. Her reaction was ridiculous in a supportive sort of way, like most of her reactions were. As for Harry, he didn't seem to mind how much she knew either way. Which was fine, really, because Draco got that same surge of warmth when Harry brushed his arm that he had glancing up when they’d bumped into each other, the one he’d held onto half the morning in Harry’s hand, and Draco liked that.

            He woke inexplicably early the next morning and was ready to leave by ten. Draco paced around the library for the rest of the morning, finally strolling into the parlor at five before twelve to find his mother at a desk writing. She looked up when he came in.

            “I’m going to Harry’s.”

            “Will you be home for dinner?”

            “I doubt it.”

            “You can invite him over, you know.”

            “Of course. Thursday?”

            His mother nodded. “I expect you’ll be home late?” She was giving him that look she had on the rare nights he’d gone to see his friends over the summer. The look that said she knew he’d be back at some ridiculous hour or not at all, and, if he didn’t come home, he’d have to let her know he was alright.

            Draco would have told her when he'd be home then if he had any idea himself. “Of course.” He turned towards the fireplace.

            His mother’s voice pulled him back around. “Darling?”

            “Yes?”

            She smiled. “Have fun.”

            Draco matched the expression and stepped into the fire. Whatever it was he and Harry were going to be doing, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be boring.

 

            Harry wanted to make cookies.

            “I’m going to send them with the Christmas cards.”

            “I was wrong yesterday,” Draco said, rolling up his sleeves and going to the sink to wash his hands. “You’re more like a _retired_ history professor. And isn't this more of an American thing?”

            “I don’t want to be a professor. I want to save the house elves,” Harry corrected him, sidling up to the sink. "And I don't really care whose tradition this is, because if I make mince pies Molly will kill me, so... biscuits it is."

            “Don’t you have a house elf?”

            “Yes. He's very disappointed I've taken over the kitchen for the afternoon. And don't say anything about the new face of the house elf liberation front _having_ a house elf. Trust me. It’s kinder to let him stay.”

            “You’ve tried to kick him out, then?”

            “Yeah. He’s sort of obsessed with this place.”

            "I can't imagine why. Didn't there used to be elf heads going up the stairs?"

            "Those were the, er, first things to go."

            "Always knew you had good taste. So, which ones are we baking first, then?" Draco levelled him an expectant look.

            Harry smiled. "Which ones are your favorite?"

            Draco resisted the urge to melt and said, "Between the ages of three and twelve anything with bright icing. After that anything with alcohol. I've grown rather fond of the icing ones again, though."

            "We can do those, then. I don't think I have rum."

            "You're probably underestimating the Black family alcohol stores, but I'm in the mood for icing so who cares?"

            "Right." Harry flipped open an ancient-looking recipe book sitting next to a stack of others on the table, then turned to a high cupboard and pulled out a box. "Found these over the summer."

            Draco laughed when Harry lifted the lid. "They're the same." At Harry's curious look, he added, "Mum's got the same ones."

            Harry wore an astonished smile. "Did you just call Narcissa Black Malfoy mum?"

            Draco raised his eyebrows. "Did you just call my mother Narcissa Black Malfoy?"

            Harry went slightly red. "It's how she signs things. In the papers and... letters."

            "I thought you didn't read the papers."

            "She saved my life. For you. I read some parts." The silence hung heavily after Harry said it, because Draco didn't know what to say, but then Harry reached over and squeezed his hand and said, "I hope you're ready to be covered in flour," and everything was okay again.

 

            Waiting for Thursday grated on his nerves more than Draco thought it had any right to. He was sitting on the front steps when Harry approached the Manor after apparating onto the front walk seconds before. Draco had told him to come in past the gates; he’d checked the wards on his first night back to find his mother had long since adjusted them to let Harry onto their property.

            "Enjoying the weather?"

            Draco laughed and stood, wrapping Harry in a hug without thinking about it and still being surprised when he hugged back. "It's a lovely day." The sky was slate gray and there was a layer of frost and half-melted snow on the ground. But Harry was there. "I wanted to ask you something before we went in."

            Harry waited.

            Draco took a steadying breath before saying it, hating the wording but hating his other options more, "What are we?"

            "Oh. We were supposed to figure that out before, weren't we?"

            "Yes." Draco had slept at Harry's on Monday, but they hadn't done anything, just slept in the same bed snuggled absurdly close to each other again (if Draco could call that nothing).

            "Well... I thought we were together."

            Hearing him say it was almost too much. Draco blinked. "Can I kiss you?"

            "Of course you c-"

            Draco was already kissing him. It started out tentative, but urgent, not wanting to not be kissing for another second. Then Harry parted his lips and so did Draco, and it became something else, learning what it was like to be kissing Harry and to be kissed by him.

            They kissed until they ran out of breath. "I'm sorry," Draco said, pulling away the two inches he could without loosing Harry's grip on his neck.

            Harry’s eyebrows knit together. "For what?"

            "I surprised you. I said I’d wait for your answer, but I-”

            "It was a good surprise. And I did say you could kiss me."

            Draco pulled him close again in one of the tightest hugs he’d ever given anyone. "I'm never being away from you on Christmas again.”

            “Okay.”

            A second later, “I still shouldn’t have surprised you.”

            Harry sighed, moved back, and pulled Draco down to sit on the step next to him.

            Draco didn’t need to ask what this was about. He waited.

            “You need to stop apologizing for kissing me.”

            “Shouldn’t have done it here.”

            Harry made a small, sad noise and Draco looked up to find his expression matched the sound. “No.”

            Draco tried to hold his gaze, but kept glancing away. “Too many horrible things have happened here.”

            “That wasn’t your fault.”

            “I shouldn’t have asked you- we don’t have to-”

            “Draco.” His voice was soft and only sounded half as hurt as it had the moment before.

            Draco met his eyes.

            “I’m alright.”

            Draco didn’t know how to believe him. He shouldn’t have even asked Harry to do this. He shouldn’t have asked him to come. Not to this place. Not now. It was like- Draco didn’t know what it was like, all he knew was how he felt and not how Harry did and he should have asked him-

            Draco looked out over the lawn, hedges half as tall and grounds twice as quiet as they had been a year ago. Less than a year ago. Not long enough.

            Maybe never would be. “Is it fucked up that I love it here?”

            Harry laughed, surprising him. “No. I love it at Grimmauld Place and my godfather was trapped there. I was trapped there.” For a long moment they sat, side by side, staring out at the frozen grass. Finally Harry said, “Doesn’t matter. It’s home.”

            "It shouldn't be," Draco said quietly. “I should have to work harder to ignore the things that happened. Or be angrier that I should have to do that at all. I should be angrier that a place that was supposed to feel safe turned into a prison.” Then, even quieter, "I don't think I have the energy to be angry anymore."

            Harry leaned into him. "Sometimes being angry is too much. Takes too much out of you.”

            "Mmm."

            "It’s amazing that you can have this back. Even… even after everything. I couldn't go back to my childhood home even if I wanted to."

            "Did you want me to-?"

            "No. But I'll tell you someday.” Harry’s head was on his shoulder and Draco caught his next, barely-whispered words. “Privet Drive never felt like home, and Godric's Hollow is- it's too much."

            Draco remembered the soot-stained door to the Room of Requirement and got the feeling he knew exactly what Harry meant. "Yeah."

            Maybe twenty minutes later, Draco turned to Harry. “We should go in. If you still want to- to do this.”

            Harry smiled crookedly. “Wouldn’t have said yes Monday if I didn’t.” He stood and held out a hand. “Come on. If you still want to do this?”

            Draco took his hand and pulled himself to his feet. Tone incredulous, “I was the one who suggested it.”

            “Just checking. You seemed to be having a lovely time out here in the cold before I got here.”

            “I was willing to brave the arctic winds for an extra few minutes with you.” Draco put his free hand on the door. It swung open.

            “I’m honored.”

            They stepped inside.

            Harry didn’t drop his hand.

 

            The rest of the break flew by too quickly.

            Draco considered throwing a full-fledged tantrum to get away from Pansy a few hours early, but he kept reminding himself he and Harry would have the entire next week to lay all over each other before they’d have to go back to school.

            It wasn’t enough.

            “I have to go home.”

            “Why?” Harry was being even clingier than Draco.

            They hadn’t kissed since that night. Even though Harry had insisted it was fine, Draco’d be damned if he was going to mess it up again. Also he knew for a fact the two of them were more comfortable taking things slow than diving in headfirst. Harry's personality aside, Draco had had plenty of time to pick up on his gratitude that he wasn't being forced to do anything quickly or recklessly that year. Neither of them were.

            And Draco was perfectly satisfied with what they were doing just then, which was laying in Harry’s bed in their pajamas at noon with their arms wrapped around each other, close as they could manage and still keep apart enough to carry on a conversation. “Because my mother and my aunt and your godson would like to see me for longer than twenty minutes before I leave.”

            Harry sighed. Twenty minutes was a bit of an exaggeration (Draco hadn’t seen him for a whole thirty-six hours on Tuesday and Wednesday), but he couldn’t deny Draco had a point.

            “We’re going to see each other tomorrow.”

            Harry pouted.

            “How are you going to survive the train?”

            “I’ll be suffering. But at least you’ll be in the same car.”

            “Presumably sitting next to you. We’ll be touching in like fifteen different places.”

            Harry sighed again. “I guess I’ll live.”

            “I really have to go.”

            “No,” Harry whined, but he released Draco and sat up.

            “Where’s my shirt?”

            “The one from yesterday or the clean one?”

            “The clean one.” Draco could have reminded him that people didn’t offer drawer space for innocent sleepovers, but he had a feeling the ensuing argument would take more time than he had to spare.

            “It’s not there?”

            Draco was staring into the drawer in question. “No.”

            “You can take one of mine.”

            Draco managed to find one that wouldn’t look terrible on him, brushed his teeth, refused Harry’s offer to stay for breakfast (at which point it was nearly one o’clock), and apparated home.

 

            When he got on the train the next day Harry was wearing his shirt.

            “Found it,” Harry said innocently.

            “I don’t believe you.” Draco slid his trunk into the rack and fell into the seat beside Harry.

            “You left it in the bathroom.”

            “I was in there for ten minutes. I would have seen it.”

            “You were probably tired. We were up pretty late.”

            “Two isn’t that late. And we woke up at eleven.”

            Harry shrugged. “Don’t know how else to convince you. That was my best argument.”

            “Don’t do that.”

            “Steal your shirts- which I didn’t- or-?”

            “Shrug. Your punishment for theft will be serving as a pillow for the duration of this journey. And pillows don’t move.” Draco put his head on Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He never slept well before travelling. That night with Harry two weeks ago had been the exception. Promising though that was, Draco hadn’t wanted to give up his last chance to see his family before going back.

            “I can’t be held responsible if you try to cuddle in your sleep.”

            “Worth it,” Draco said.

            A second later he heard the compartment door slide open.

            “Not a word,” Draco said to whoever was stepping inside.

            Pansy replied, “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

            “Sure you weren’t.”

            “How was your holiday, Harry?”

            Draco could hear he was smiling. “It was good. How was yours?”

            “You know. Had a nice time getting drunk with your boyfriend last weekend.”

            “We’re not dating,” Draco said into Harry’s shoulder.

            “I think Pansy’s definition of ‘dating’ is flexible,” suggested Harry.

            “Don’t.”

            “Come, now, Draco, that’s no way to treat someone you’ve only just started- are you snogging, or is this a first-year kind of thing?”

            “None of your business.”

            “I can keep secrets. And Blaise isn’t even coming back by train. He has to take a portkey. Got hung up in Switzerland.”

            “Is she telling the truth?” Draco asked Harry, eyes still closed.

            “I don’t know how to tell.”

            Draco opened one eye. “You’re a fucking hack, Pansy.” He closed it again.

            She cackled. “I know.”

            “What’s got you in such a good mood?” Serena asked as she entered the car.

            “I’m trying to convince Draco to admit he and Harry are together.”

            Serena snorted. “Like what, first years?”

            “That’s what I said, but they didn’t take the bait. Or at least Draco didn’t. Harry clearly wanted to.”

            “I trust you, Pansy,” Harry said.

            Draco sat bolt upright and glared at him.

            “I’m pretty sure she knows enough to say something to Blaise without you sitting on my lap the whole way. We may as well just trust her.”

            “Theo told me what he was getting Serena for Christmas and I kept a straight face all eighty-seven times she asked me," said Pansy.

            Serena stared at her. “On the eighty-eighth you spilled.”

            Pansy gave her a look similar to the one Draco was giving Harry.

            “Why are we dating Slytherins?” Serena asked.

            “No idea,” Harry replied.

            “We’re not dating,” Draco corrected. Again.

            “Blaise isn’t here,” countered Harry.

            “You’re going to regret this,” Draco said, climbing into his lap.

            “Eh. I doubt it.”

            “If you could get your argument out of the way,” Draco said to Serena and Pansy. “I’d like to take a nap.”

            “That doesn’t look like a comfortable napping position,” Pansy said, lowering herself gracefully into the seat across from Harry and Draco.

            “Fuck you,” Draco said, voice muffled by Harry’s neck.

            “Sorry. Not interested. I’d say you were clearly taken, but I have a feeling you two wouldn’t be so clingy if you had-”

            Her voice was interrupted by the sound of the door opening again.

            “Fucking brilliant,” Draco muttered, too tired to move. It was brilliant, actually, because he wasn't in the mood to hear how Pansy would have finished that sentence, and Harry’d tell him if anything important happened.

            Ginny Weasley’s delighted voice drifted through the door. “We had trouble finding a car.”

            “Hey, Gin.”

            “Hi, Harry. Draco. Rival lesbian power couple.” She dropped into the seat next to them.

            “Rival what now?” Pansy asked in her most pleasant tone.

            “Hello, everyone.” Luna Lovegood. That explained it.

            “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Pansy stage-whispered to Serena, presumably still sporting a fake smile. Draco was starting to feel sleepy and didn’t think it was worth checking.

            Serena sounded happily amazed as she replied, “I honestly thought you’d figure it out sooner.”

            Pansy sighed. “Whatever. Welcome to the gay car.”

            “Technically I’m the only gay one,” Draco yawned. He could practically hear Pansy rolling her eyes in protest, but she didn't say anything.

            “Go to sleep,” Harry said.

            “You two are cute,” Ginny commented.

            “Not dating,” clarified Draco.

            “Sleep.” Harry was rubbing soothing circles into Draco’s shoulder. He wasn’t quite sure when Harry’d wrapped his arm around him, but Pansy was definitely wrong because Harry was warm and Draco was very comfortable.

            “Have you told my brother?”

            “Have you?”

            “Would this be a bad time to propose we place bets on which of us he finds out first?”

            Harry sighed.

            “Pillows aren’t supposed to move.”

            “Sorry. And I’m pretty sure he’s known about the two of you for months, Gin.”

            “He hasn’t said anything.”

            “That’s because he’s being considerate or… something.”

            Draco was vaguely aware of another conversation going on at the other side of the car, but the sound of Harry’s voice was _much nicer_ than Pansy’s, and he didn’t really have the energy to pay attention to more than one thing anymore anyway.

            Then Ginny was saying something, and Harry was replying, and Draco was asleep.

 

            “What?”

            “Half an hour left, Draco. We have to change.”

            “Are you going to give me my shirt back?”

            “I think it’s customary to wash it first.”

            “House elves.” Draco was slowly becoming aware of an uncomfortable silence. “They’re all still here, aren’t they?”

            “Harry’s wearing your shirt?” Pansy asked, sounding gleeful.

            “Again, fuck you,” Draco said, grudgingly opening his eyes to take in the lamplit car and the five people staring at him.

            “Shall the four of us leave you two to change?” replied Pansy.

            “That’d be unnecessary.” Draco pointed a finger at himself. “Again: gay.”

            Pansy continued as if she hadn't heare him. “Unless I was right about you two being at the same relationship stage as a couple of first years, which I suppose is safe to assume from your continued insistence that you’re not dating-”

            “Would you prefer to swear an Unbreakable Vow not to say anything to Blaise?”

            Pansy’s smile widened to include teeth. “We’ve already established that I’m trustworthy.”

            One very intense staring contest later, Draco, Pansy, and Serena were changing (and arguing) as the other three waited outside. Quidditch locker rooms or not, Draco wasn’t about to go stripping in front of Harry while jammed in a train compartment with three people who’d never let them hear the end of it and one who would probably point out something obvious that neither Harry nor Draco had noticed about their relationship. No thanks.

            The rest of the train ride passed in a blur. One moment Draco was gazing out the window wondering how on earth he’d survived long enough to hold Harry’s hand, and the next they were pulling into the station.

            On the way up to the castle, he and Harry agreed to sit at their respective house tables. Harry was likely to be bombarded by stories from Ron and Hermione’s trip the second they saw him, and Draco doubted they’d be able to sit far enough away from each other to avoid Blaise noticing and loudly announcing their proximity to the entire Hall.

            Harry tripped into the sitting room a full twenty minutes after Draco made it up, beaming.

            “Was their trip good?”

            “It was brilliant.” He opened his mouth to continue, but then his face fell.

            “You don’t have to tell me.”

            Harry came around the back of the sofa and sat next to him. “I want to. Someday.”

            “Whenever, then."

            Harry struggled out of his robes and pushed them aside, shifting closer to wrap his arms around Draco. “Your hair’s wet.”

            “I thought if I showered it’d make me tired. Since I usually do before bed.”

            “Did it work?”

            “Not really.”

            “I can leave you alone.”

            “You don’t have to. But you should change. And move to a bed.”

            “That would require energy.”

            Draco squeezed his shoulder.

            Harry pulled himself upright. “Which one?”

            “I don’t care. Your room. You’re more tired.”

            Within ten minutes, they were curled up under Harry’s blankets.

            “My turn to sleep on you,” Harry said contentedly.

            Draco didn't mind.


	19. If You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Hannah for helping me name this chapter!

            Neither of them said anything to anyone officially, but the people who mattered noticed anyway.

            "I think it's wonderful you're not rushing into things, Harry," Hermione said about once a day, usually after asking if they'd kissed yet.

            “You know I would probably tell you if anything important happened?”

            “The operative word being ‘probably.'”

            She had a point, because what had happened on the steps of Malfoy Manor was important. But it was also theirs. It didn’t have to make sense to anyone else. Which it wouldn't, probably, so Harry hadn't told them. “Why d’you never bring this up when Ron’s here?”

            “Because she thinks I’d take the piss if she did?” suggested Ron from over Harry’s shoulder.

            “Would you?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised, as Ron sat down. They were in an otherwise-deserted corner of the common room.

            “No.”

            Hermione turned to Ron. “I don’t think you’d take the piss. I think if you two talked about it more it’d be more likely to get out.”

            “That- is probably true,” Ron said thoughtfully.

            “Ron would want to start hanging around Draco and getting to know him, and people would see, and then the school would draw conclusions and you’d be screwed,” Hermione said.

            At her last words, Luna ambled over. “Who’d be screwed?”

            “Me and Draco,” Harry said.

            “Ah. It’s going well, then?”

            “Yeah. Don’t want the school to mess it up.”

            “Hang on,” Ron said indignantly, “Luna’s allowed to ask if it’s going well, but when one of us uses the word ‘dating’ with both your names in a sentence-”

            “I wouldn’t have a problem if we were dating. But we’re not. Also the common room is starting to fill up, so…” Harry shrugged and rose.

            “Think you’ll start making sense before our DADA review session on Thursday?” asked Ron hopefully.

            Harry grinned. “Probably not.” As long as it made sense to him and Draco- together but not dating because they didn't have time and who needed it when you shared rooms?- Harry was alright.

            “Fine. I’ll see you later, then.”

            “Bye.”

            Hermione and Luna waved as Harry dodged a few fifth years and headed for the door. Usually he saved his time in the common room for off-hours and kept up the ‘too busy to care’ attitude, so people didn’t really bother him anymore.

            Which might change when he and Draco decided to publicly declare themselves or whatever it was they were going to do, but until then Harry could make it back to the fifth floor in peace.

            “How are the Gryffindors?”

            “Disappointed in my lack of relationship initiative. How are the Slytherins?”

            Draco glanced up from his Runes textbook. “Pansy’s convinced she’s going to fail half her NEWTs and Blaise has decided to pursue a career in the dramatic arts, since he does so well with them on a daily basis. So, business as usual, basically.”

            Harry dropped his bag next to the sofa, lifted Draco’s snuggly-socked feet, and took a seat under them. “Blaise changes careers at least once a week. What do you think about my lack of relationship initiative?”

            “As long as we’re together, I don’t care whether or not we do the tongues-down-each-other’s-throats part.”

            “I know.”

  
            “Do you care?”

            Harry smiled. “No.”

            Draco went back to reading. “Are you going to be doing something productive, or are you here to distract me?”

            “I don’t see how I could possibly be a distraction.”

            “You’re sitting at the end of the sofa staring at me and smiling like you’ve just caught the Snitch.”

            “You’re much prettier than a Snitch.”

            Draco glanced up and made a little sound of distress. “Can you please stop using terrible pick-up lines and either get out a book or commit to properly distracting me?”

            “But _how_ can I distract you? Without the tongues-down-each-other’s-throats thing, I mean?”

            Draco gave him a pleading look.

            “Want to go flying?”

            “Of course I do.” Draco snapped his book shut and rolled to his feet. “There aren’t any teams out practicing now, are there?”

            “I don’t think so. They aren’t usually out during dinner.”

            “We’re going to miss it if we go out now.”

            “Do you mind?”

            “Not if you don’t."

            Harry didn't mind. “Let’s go, then.”

 

            Harry liked being with Draco.

            He liked the way they sprawled half-on-top of each other on the sofa and the way Draco looked up when Harry said his name and the way they’d started linking their fingers together every time one of them reached for a hand and the other obliged. He liked the way Draco dropped all pretense of not caring the second they were alone and the way he blushed when he did something sweet and Harry pointed it out. He liked the way one of them convinced the other (and Draco nearly always won) to come to the other’s room almost every night so they didn’t have to sleep alone. He liked the way he could look across the sitting room and see Draco even if they weren’t in the same bed because he’d started to always keep his door open.

            He liked Draco. More than possibly anyone. Sort of loved him, actually, though they were only just into the middle place Harry thought- where friendship turned into something else- and he liked that.

            He liked the way Draco asked him if things were alright before he did them. He liked the way Draco asked what he wanted. He liked the way Draco made sure Harry knew when he was going to be even a few minutes late to one of their regular stretches of being in the same place at the same time.  People didn’t do that. Any of it. They never had with Harry. They assumed they knew what he wanted, or told him what he should want, and they assumed he wouldn’t mind when they showed up a few minutes late. Which he didn’t, but not too long ago no news might have been very very bad news and he didn't have to remember that because Draco told him.

            The asking was the most important part. Harry was not used to being asked what he wanted. He didn’t know if Draco realized this at some past point or if he only noticed when they started being affectionate on purpose; he did notice, though, because even after Harry had gotten used to casual touches like a light hand on his back or the brush of fingers down his arm, Draco still asked at times when- as Harry was just beginning to recognize- Harry wasn’t obviously in the mood for it.

            Which he was all the time, anyway, but that didn’t stop the thrill of amazement and gratitude every time Draco asked, “Can I kiss you?”

            They hadn’t kissed again. Not really. Harry didn’t mind. He liked this, too, actually, because he had never done anything slowly in his life and he liked not feeling like they had to get anywhere.

            And it was another way Draco told him he wasn’t there because he expected Harry to do or be anything. He just wanted to be with him.                       

 

            The demands of NEWT-level homework increased significantly as their final term began, becoming unreasonably ridiculous by the first few days of February. Harry- and, from what he could make out, the rest of the seventh and eighth years- felt like he was being pushed to the absolute limit of what he was capable of cramming into one day. The only ones who seemed unfazed by their piles of homework were Serena, who’d apparently been studying since the previous summer, and Hermione, whose mood was considerably lighter with each positive report she received from the Australian hospital. Hers and Ron’s trip had been a success. Though it would be years before her parents’ memories were fully restored, they had been able to recognize her by the New Year and had been sending her letters (the Hogsmeade post office forwarded muggle post for students) ever since.

            “They’re even thinking of moving back this summer! There’s so much to consider, of course, with their new dental practice, and it isn’t _too_ difficult to set up a regular long-distance portkey… I don’t see a point going to university, but I might have ended up having to travel to visit them if I had, you know?”

            “I didn’t exactly get far enough in muggle school to consider that. And I don’t want to look at another textbook for the rest of my life after this year,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes. The higher-than-usual number of NEWT students had taken to clustering in the library, raising the noise level of the front tables to a low buzz Madam Pince’s best efforts couldn’t quell.

            Draco muttered his agreement from Harry’s right, too absorbed in Astronomy charts to properly join the conversation. He and Harry had started spending more time around each other’s friends lately, for academic commiseration if nothing else. They didn’t exactly have time to care about the progression of their relationship, which Harry didn’t mind so long as they were able to spend time with each other.

            In the spirit of house unity, all semblance of house-based study groups had completely broken down; it was now customary to take the nearest open seat and resurface from studying to complain only if the other people around the table had gone a designated amount of time without turning a page or scrawling a note or a line of an essay. Harry quickly became familiar with people he’d never interacted with before break. Though it was nice to know more people than he’d really had time to in years past, Harry was grateful for his ability to escape to his and Draco’s rooms.

            Except Draco wasn’t doing homework this time.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Why does something have to be wrong? Is it so inconceivable that I’d want to spend a few minutes-”

            “Laying on the floor staring at the ceiling looking like something’s wrong?” Harry sat on the arm of the sofa and fell back, awkwardly-positioned but able to stare expectantly at Draco.

            “You needn’t stare so hard, Potter. I can practically feel you singeing the side of my head.”

            “That’s fine, then. I have time.” Harry turned to stare at the ceiling and wait.

            A minute went by. Then Draco said, “I still owe you.”

            Sometimes Harry wondered if the anger was ever going to fade- wondered if, someday far from then, people blaming themselves for things they couldn’t control would stop making him feel like this.

            Probably not. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

            He saw Draco wince out of the corner of his eye. Heard him take a breath. “Let’s roll all those times I endangered your life when we were younger into one, for compromise’s sake-”

            “Draco.” Harry kept his tone as even as he could make it, forced himself not to turn his head just yet.

            “-and then we may as well throw in one extra for all the times I tried to kill you during Quidditch, skip ahead to you getting caught in the crossfire of my attempts on Dumbledore’s life and that makes three-”

            “Draco.” His gaze was cool enough that he could look at Draco, now, but Draco wasn’t looking at him.

            And he wasn’t stopping. “- add the Room and that’s at least four. Personally I don’t think that’s a high enough number considering how dangerous half the things we did in school were, but even if it’s four that still doesn’t balance back out-”

            “Draco.” Harry was getting more patient as Draco went on, rage dialing back until it was a low, twisty concoction part shame, part guilt, and all the rest pain.

            “- because if you add the bathroom and me misidentifying you and my mother pretending you were dead, that’s still only three. There wasn’t any other time you did something to seriously endanger my life-”

            “Draco.” He was the only one who could make Harry this patient. Even while Draco was talking himself into condemnation and absolving Harry of all the shitty things he’d done-

            “- but, come to think of it, I’m not even counting the trial. If you recast that as cancelling out somehow with what my mother did, since those things weren’t just about me-”

            “Draco.” Harry thought he might be crying, but couldn’t be sure, because silent tears were rolling down _Draco’s_ face and he wasn’t looking at Harry, he wasn’t _looking_ -

            “- I’m still in your debt twice. And that’s a conservative estimate. Since you almost died twice during the Dumbledore thing and I could’ve got you killed with what I did with the cabinet anywa-”

            “ _Draco_.”

            He finally looked.

            “Stop.”

            His expression didn’t waver, caught somewhere between honesty and composure. “You said we were even and you were wrong.”

            Harry almost laughed. “On my end, maybe. Not the other way around.”

            Draco looked away. “This saving-the-victim-boyfriend thing is getting kind of old.”

            “Draco.”

            He looked again.

            “That’s not what I’m doing.”

            “Yes it is. You can’t stand to see people suffering so you- it’s admirable, really, just isn’t-”

            “Is this because you haven’t forgiven yourself? Is that what this is about?” Harry’s voice broke but he kept going anyway. Weaving things he knew with things he thought about Draco in a desperate attempt to find what was causing him pain and stop it. “Because I’ve tried. And reminding yourself things are your fault doesn’t work very well. And a year doesn’t seem nearly long enough-”

            “It’s about this,” Draco said, sitting up and yanking up his left sleeve. The mark had faded. Draco continued like he’d heard Harry think it, “Not as bad. Still here, though, isn’t it? Like the things I did. Not as bad because he lost but I did them, anyway, Harry. Regret can’t undo that, even if I could regret it, which I don’t even know if I-” he took a messy breath before continuing. “It’s done, Harry. And if you can’t accept that for what it is, I don’t think I can do-” he waved a hand between them, “-this.”

            And he went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

            Ten minutes later Draco came back in and said, “I didn’t mean that.”

            Harry hadn’t moved. “Yes you did.”

            “No, Harry, I-” He stopped when he saw Harry’s expression.

            “Draco.” Don’t lie to me, is what he was saying. If we’re talking about it we’re talking about it, so don’t pretend.

            Draco let out an impatient sigh. “Can you sit, then? Please?”

            Harry did. The sudden motion made him dizzy- but that was good, sort of, because it forced some of the darker thoughts back for a second so he could rearrange them and find the important ones. “You know I’m not trying to rewrite history or erase it.”

            Draco sat down, slowly, a foot away from him. Then, meeting Harry’s eyes, “I’m worried you’re looking at it differently to make it easier for us to be together.”

            Harry could have laughed at that, too. “Draco. You’re the only one I can be _honest_ about it all with.”

            Draco’s expression was open but challenging. “Are you sure?”

            Harry reached for his left hand, said, “Can I-?” and Draco thrust his hand forward, wrist fitting into Harry’s grasp.

            Draco was staring at him. He watched as Harry glanced down. Yanked his sleeve up and kept staring.

            It was a shadow under his skin, the skull and the snake standing out in sharp relief despite having faded- because Draco’s skin was pale in the firelight and the mark filled Harry with so much, so much it made him nauseous. Anger and frustration and grief and regret and the pain was back again.

            Draco’s voice was quiet; Harry could hear that his expression had softened, could feel it. “You don’t have to be fine.”

            “I’m not.” Harry glanced up. “I’m furious. Nothing’s ever made me this angry. I know it’s proof of what you did.” He shut his eyes. “I know what it’s like to feel the mark of something evil living in your skin.”

            “Harry-” but his voice was too soft.

            “No.” Harry opened his eyes. “I forgave you. That isn’t it at all. It’s- this-” he squeezed Draco’s wrist so he’d know what Harry meant. “This will never be only your fault. And it reminds me. It reminds me you did terrible things. But it’s not- you can’t do that. What you think I do to myself, I mean. Try to take the blame for it. It’s not yours. Not all of it. It never will be.” Just like Harry had to remember he couldn’t have known what would happen, couldn’t have known enough to do things differently enough- Draco had to remember this.

            “I don’t want to do this to you,” he was still quiet. Draco reached up as if to pull his sleeve down.

            “Don’t. Do that for me, I mean.”

            Draco met his eyes. “How do you know it’s not for me?”

            “I don’t. But I don’t think if it was you’d’ve been able to come back.” Harry was surprised as he said it, realizing he thought it was true even though he’d never considered it before.

            “Even so,” Draco said, smiling, and fixed his sleeve anyway. “Are you alright?”

            Harry’s heart ached. “I’m more worried about you.”

            “I’m fine. Think I need to go for a walk, maybe.”

            “Will you be alright?”

            He smiled, mostly with his eyes. “Harry. I already told you I was.”

            “See you in the morning, then?”

            Draco got it. “Don’t forget to set your alarm.”

            “Don’t forget your gloves.”

            Draco stood, still smiling, and went to get his cloak.

            They slept in their own beds that night. Harry heard Draco come in, maybe two hours later, heard the shower running and the soft openings and closings of the bathroom door as he got ready for bed.

            They weren’t done, Harry knew. They would never be done talking about this. But they knew that they could, that they were willing to, that even though discussing it still overwhelmed them they were getting better at it. Because this _was_ a little easier. They weren’t pretending, like they had been in Hogsmeade. Harry knew Draco still blamed himself, and Draco knew Harry still blamed himself, and it felt so much better being able to talk about it.

            They still hadn’t made it far, maybe. Maybe never would get all the way past it. Harry didn’t know if it was possible to get past that. He didn’t usually feel like he ever could.

            But he knew Draco was going to let him try. And he was going to let Draco try. Even if the best either of them could do was fuck off home to stare at the ceiling willing the blame to feel less immediate and wondering how anyone could give the advice ‘it’s not your fault’ and mean it.

            Neither of them was there now. They were getting better. Draco didn’t flinch away from the physical reminder etched into his arm and Harry… Harry didn’t either. Seeing his scar in the mirror didn’t hurt the way it used to.

            Draco’s mark was different. Not as different as it could have been, but still different. Mostly Harry wanted to be able to look at it and feel almost nothing, the way he looked at his scar and sometimes managed not to feel anything but sad.

            He’d never be indifferent. But maybe that was a moot point, because Harry didn’t think he’d ever be indifferent about anything to do with Draco Malfoy. He never had been.

            Draco left his door open and the sitting room lights on, because he needed it, or Harry did. They both probably needed it.

 

            The next morning when Draco came out of his room and saw Harry he threw his arms open and said, “If you want,” in a voice so casual Harry laughed.

            He was already stumbling across the room and into Draco’s arms. It didn’t sting the way Harry feared it would, didn’t feel like a reminder that they couldn’t do it.

            It felt like a reminder that they could.

            “You know, it’s going to take a very long time to convince me I’m not in your debt.” Draco was holding him, still, so Harry couldn’t look, but he found he didn’t want to.

            Or didn’t need to. Because Harry’s next words were, “About as long as it’ll take you to convince me I don’t owe you anything?”

            “At least.”

“I think I can be patient. For you.”

Draco’s arms tightened. “So can I.”

“Glad that’s settled, then.”


	20. Crime of Opportunity

            They stayed close, that day. It was a Friday, so they didn’t see each other for the morning or half the afternoon, but at lunch Harry sat at the Slytherin table and sometimes when Draco caught his expression he looked like he was apologizing.

            “You don’t need to do that,” Draco would say, when they were alone, halfway to the Great Hall or down a corridor on the long way to Charms, and Harry would say, “I know,” and squeeze his hand or hug him again or do something else to physically reassure him, like he was saying, I know I don’t need to apologize and neither do you but we’re not talking about it, now, anyway.

            If this was what it was going to be like every time they talked about those things they couldn’t talk about with anyone else, Draco thought maybe he could do it.

            Enough to be honest with Harry, at least. Enough to be closer to him and not have to feel like either of them was holding something back.

            But that was the point, wasn’t it? That they didn’t have to. That they could just… exist. Harry could be Harry and Draco could be Draco and if they needed to talk about something they could without having to worry about sides or politics or history seeping into the conversation in unfinished sentences and apologies.

            Draco wasn’t going to stop apologizing. But he knew Harry wouldn’t either. That was it. Them keeping trying to convince each other that the other one wasn’t at fault for anything at all. And it would be good. It would be good for them to hear that, even if Draco didn’t want to admit it on his own behalf. Because forgiving themselves for the war was not something either of them could do alone if they could even do it at all and Draco thought- he thought it was good they had each other.

            So on Saturday morning, when the clinginess was dissipating but still present, after Harry strolled down to the kitchen still in pajamas to bring back a late breakfast, Draco said, “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day?” and ignored the very real twinge of nervousness he got when Harry dropped his toast.

            “What?”

            “I think we should do something. If you want. Since it’s- symbolism, or something, to do something on Valentine’s day with-”

            “Yes.”

            Thank Merlin Draco hadn’t had to finish that sentence. Harry’s answer had surprised him, though. “Oh. I thought you were going to have a reason why we shouldn’t. To avoid all the fanfare.”

            Harry grinned. “It’d be kind of hypocritical of me to suggest that. Since I’ve been trying to come up with something good for about a month.”

            Draco stared at him.

            “What? Surprised I-”

            “No. I’m kicking myself for not thinking of it before and thinking through a list of things you could have come up with.” Most of which were nerve-wracking or terrible, but Draco wasn’t about to tell Harry that.

            “Doubt any of them is going to live up to the real thing.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “It’s that good, is it?”

            “I should hope so. Since it, you know, took a month.” Harry wasn’t going to break the gaze anytime soon, so Draco finally did.

            Merlin fucking hell. What was he going to do? Draco had been thinking of suggesting something mildly sweet or subtly romantic. Knowing Harry, he’d probably do something so sweet and romantic Draco would want to vomit (his choice of Christmas gift was a spectacular example- he’d gotten Draco a broomstick charm that was impossible for the owner to loose, so he’d “have a reminder of what made him happy in case he needed it” (Harry had even put it on a necklace chain so Draco could wear it under his robes, which he did, constantly, because even though it was sickeningly sweet he still loved it)).

            Draco was midway through thinking he was fucked when he realized it was the exact same thought he’d had when he’d realized he was falling for Harry. Not that that particular phrasing of the thought was making it into whatever it was he was doing for Harry for Valentine’s, but it was a start, at least.

            There was something more important he’d have to discuss with Harry before he made it any farther, though. “I know this is probably not relevant to your- surprise- because you’re you, but if you wanted to I’d be alright going public.”

            Harry looked dangerously close to dropping his toast again. “Really?”

            “Really.” Draco had had time to think about it, and he knew that if they waited too long (not that he was going to bring up the anniversary of the war with Harry because neither of them needed to think about _that_ ) or not long enough, the press was going to be… bad. “I don’t think I’d mind if you stood on a table at lunch today and shouted it to the whole Hall.”

            “You’re exaggerating.”

            “Blame Blaise.”

            “But you mean it.”

            “Yes.”

            Harry glanced away and back again. He was smiling like he wasn’t entirely able to believe Draco but that he mostly could and was very much enjoying it. “Might want to wait until dinner. Since lunch is going to start in a few minutes and we haven’t finished breakfast.”

            “Is it a date, then?”

            Harry held eye contact for a second, expression serious. “I don’t think I’m quite there yet.”

            “Let me know when you are?”

            The smile was back. “’Course I will.”

            Draco hummed. “Is there any coffee left?”

            “In my cup.”

            “Closer to my seat, anyway,” Draco said, “if you don’t m-”

            Harry slid back his chair and raised his eyebrows. “Not about that part.”

            Draco perched on Harry’s lap, completely blocking Harry’s access to his coffee. “I’m afraid this puts you at a disadvantage, Potter.”

            “I don’t know. I mean, I sort of thought it’d do the opposite, actually, since you’re so-” DAMNIT, Draco thought, a split second too slow to get away, “-ticklish.”

            “Fuck- you- Potter!” Draco managed between gasps (Harry was _attacking_ him). Draco tried to assess his surroundings and decided the floor was his best escape; he wriggled out of range and collapsed a few feet from the chair, levelling Harry with a glare as he caught his breath. “Valentine’s Day is cancelled.”

            Harry frowned. “But I have such a good surprise.”

            Draco sighed. “I suppose, if you give me the rest of your coffee-”

            “Never mind then.”

            Draco stared at him.

            “Fine. I don’t even like coffee that much,” Harry finally said.

            That had been why Draco had been going to drink it. Instead of pointing this out, though, he demanded, “So you assaulted me for _no reason_?”

            Harry shrugged. “It was a crime of opportunity.”

            “You’re ridiculous.”

            “I know. You remind me at least once a day. Come back?” Harry held his arms open.

            “I guess this spot’s still closer to the coffee. So I could be persuaded. If you promise not to attack me again.”

            “I won’t.”

            “Promise?”

            “I promise not to attack you again today.”

            “You’re a fucking arsehole, Potter,” Draco said, but he got up and went to go sit in Harry’s lap again, anyway.

 

            “I need your help.”

            “Again? My, my, you’d think by now you would’ve figured out how to impress him,” Serena said nonchalantly, examining her nails and barely holding back a wicked smile.

            When Pansy said nothing, Draco turned to her. “That could have been taken as an insult to Harry’s sophistication. Not going to defend him?”

            “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t. Serena loves Harry. And even if it was, I don’t think sophistication’s everything, regardless of whether or not Harry has it.”

            Draco glared a challenge at her.

            “Refinement can be cultivated.”

            Draco laughed. “Is that what you did with me?”

            “You weren’t quite up to par when we made that deal to be each other’s beards fourth year.”

            After a few more seconds of glaring, Draco returned his gaze to Serena. “Well?”

            “Well- oh, alright, but Pansy, you need to leave.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “We’re going to be discussing Draco’s plans for next week, obviously, and I can’t risk giving anything away. You know our dates are never any fun unless they’re a surprise.”

            “I’ll see you upstairs later, then,” Pansy said, kissing the side of Serena’s mouth, swinging her bag over one shoulder, and throwing in a glance behind her as she walked away.

            “Remind me to Scourgify the inside of my head after this conversation is over.”

            “Wouldn’t that be a little risky? The idea of advice is that you remember it, after all.” Serena fluttered her eyelashes over infuriatingly innocent-looking brown eyes.

            “I saw _tongue_.”

            “Right, well, not your girlfriend anymore, is she, and I don’t see any professors around. You were going to ask me something?”

            “Was ‘I need your help’ not clear?” When Serena merely blinked, Draco said, “Fine. Serena, wisest of Ravenclaws, please give me advice.”

            “Right. Well, knowing Harry, he’s probably planning something so disgustingly sweet I’d one-day-flu puke all over this common room if I heard about it.”

            “Unnecessarily graphic, but likely. Go on.”

            “Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking the same thing, dear. If you’re alright with it- as from what I am to understand, you ‘aren’t dating’?” The quotes were obvious in her tone. Draco nodded, so Serena went on, “You’ll have to make some similarly vomit-worthy gesture that falls within the realm of your… relationship.”

            “That _is_ the right word for it,” Draco said, forcing himself not to sound too defensive.

            Serena’s smile would terrify a lesser Slytherin. “I know.”

            “But you wanted to say something rude.”

            “Not at all, sweetheart. Not at fucking all.”

            Draco sighed. “Since you obviously want to laugh about us some more-”

            “I admire your restraint, think you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and came very very close to referencing appropriate courtship practices sometime between the Middle Ages and the birth of Queen Victoria. You two are being absolutely archaic, but far be it from me to pass judgment on the sexual interactions or lack thereof in someone else’s relationship.”

            “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just admit to having sex in Pansy’s dorm while there were other people in the room and move onto my preliminary thoughts about the actual topic of this conversation.”

            “Let it be known for the record that I am excellent at privacy spells.”

            “Again, please remind me to Scourgify the inside of my head after this. Might be worth the risk of forgetting your brilliant advice thank you o knowledgeable one for gracing me with your gifts.”

            “Nice save.”

            “Thanks. Onto my plans,” Draco said swiftly, “I have nothing.”

            “What?” Serena gaped at him.

            Draco pushed aside the twinge of frustration-slash-annoyance and said, “Short of plagiarizing what Theo did for that Hufflepuff for her birthday-”

            “Oh, you can’t do that, darling, you’re so much better than idea theft.”

            “Unless it’s from you and not theft, so if you would please-”

            Serena sighed. “Right. Draco Malfoy doesn’t have an idea.”

            Not that he wanted to tell Serena. So, lies. “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”

            Then Serena smiled, sealing his doom. “How embarrassed are you that you won’t tell me what it is?”

            “I’m leaving. I’ll figure it out on my own.” Draco stood.

            “Wait, no, no, I’m sure it’s lovely and magically possible, please don’t leave this room without telling me you can’t just dangle information like that in front of my face Draco Pansy isn’t going to break this time I’ve already tried.”

            Draco sat with exaggerated slowness.

            “Now tell me.”

            Draco did.

            “D’you know, that’s a plot point in a muggle children’s film?”

            “I’m not trying to rip off magically-inaccurate Disney films, Serena, I’m trying to be romantic!”

            She looked surprised, then thoughtful. “You’ve seen- well, actually, come to think of it, it isn’t really ripping off the film the way you’re doing it-”

            “Serena!”

            “Right, sorry, yes. Ideas. That sounds lovely and as established I’m an ace with privacy spells, so I think I can help you pull it off. Or accomplish something well enough that Harry wants to.”

            “Okay, great, thanks, I’ll get back to you next week, please never speak to me again barring the fulfillment of the offer you just made me.”

            Draco was halfway to the door before she called, “Forgive me, Draco, we have to still be friends next week so you can tell me how it goes!”

            Draco hoped she caught the well-meaning finger he was brandishing as the common room door closed behind him.

 

            Draco started rolling up his sleeves.

            Harry hadn’t said anything else about the mark. Draco still didn’t believe he was fine, though, so he started rolling up his sleeves.

            Harry either pretended not to notice or really stopped after those first few times. Draco knew this was a different type of getting used to something than any of the other ones they’d done so far (getting used to each other, getting used to being friends with each other, getting used to the idea they could hug or hold hands or kiss without the world falling apart). He knew it might be the slowest thing Harry would have to do, because there was no other way to do it; it was ripping off a plaster over and over again and hoping Harry stopped minding after awhile.

            Kind of like how there was no way to flip a switch and stop feeling responsible for the deeds of everyone who had the same symbol branded on their arms.

            Or like there was no way to flip a switch and stop feeling responsible for a war too many people had forced you into.

            It wasn’t the same for Harry. He knew that. He knew for Harry it would always be different, because Draco had felt like he had choices. Bad ones, yes, but choices. He knew in some ways Harry felt like he had none. And that even if he could have chosen differently, he wouldn’t have. It was written in the resigned set of his shoulders, the bitter edge in his voice every time a discussion threatened to stray into something related to the war or what it meant to live through it or the Chosen One.

            Harry was right. It would take him time. It would take Draco time.

            When he pulled up his sleeves Draco was just trying to give him time. So it didn’t hurt them both so much when he finally pulled off his shirt for a reason other than a shower and half the point was that Harry look.

 

            Harry kept asking him if he was really alright with announcing their relationship, and every time he did Draco said the same thing.

“I’m ready when you are.”

            “Really?”

            Draco smiled. “To be honest I don’t think I would have cared if a Prophet reporter saw us during Christmas. But I understand why you don’t want to say anything. And I want you to know that I’ll be okay with whatever you want to do.”

            Harry stared at him for a long second. “I thought you’d want to wait. Since we haven’t worked everything out yet.”

            “Are we ever going to?”

            “No.” Harry smiled, part-confusion, part-understanding. “I guess we’re not. But you’re okay where we are now?”

            Draco repeated the answer he’d used half a hundred times by then. “I’m fine if you are.”

            Harry paused a second, thinking, then said, “Thanks for that. And thank you for… everything else. For this. For being there. For not thinking we have to do anything- anything specific. For just- yeah- for being around. And you’ll be the first to know. When I want to make this public, I mean.”

            “You don’t need to thank me. I’m here because I want to be. But you’re welcome, anyway.”

            Harry drew his eyebrows together. “You’re sure you don’t care?”

            Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “About wild relationship speculation at best and outright slander at worst?”

            “Death threats are worse than slander,” Harry said quietly.

            “You’ll be getting them, too.”

            Harry dropped his eyes. “I’m used to it.”

            “They start to lose their edge after about the tenth one, don’t you think?” Draco gazed steadily at Harry until he looked up.

            “I usually don’t get past two or three.” Harry held his eyes for a moment, then smiled. “I know a few spells to turn them back.”

            “Wards?”

            “I recast the ones on Grimmauld Place over the summer.”

            Draco smiled. “I think we’ve been using the same ones since the 1500s.”

            Harry’s eyes widened. “When was your house built?”

            Draco shrugged. “Around 1000, I think. There’s been loads of renovations since then, of course. I’d have to get the family histories out of stasis to check.”

            Harry’s eyes shone with amazement. It was adorable and made Draco want to kiss him. “That’s 1000 years of history in _one place_ ,” he said, staring at Draco like he couldn’t believe someone could have that and not marvel at it.

            Draco kept his tone even. “You can look around during study breaks if you stay over for Easter.”

            Harry froze.

            Draco’s heart wrenched. “Obviously I don’t expect-”

            “Okay.”

            “What?” Draco blinked. He had been a little surprised at the offer himself, but as soon as he made it he knew he wouldn’t have wanted to not. The fact that Harry was agreeing was-

            “Okay,” he repeated.

            Amazing. More amazing than a room full of thousand-year-old books. Almost as amazing as the look on Harry’s face when he said it (some shock, but mostly happiness). “I’ll have to let my mother know you’re coming. You’re sure you wouldn’t want to-” because he could have gone to Grimmauld Place, or stayed, and Draco didn’t want to make him feel like he _had_ to do anything.

            “I’d just be staying here if you didn’t invite me. And I think it’ll be nice.”

            Draco frowned. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”

            It was Harry’s turn to be annoyed. “We’re not having this argument again.”

            “I still shouldn’t have asked you to spend an entire week there.”

            “Is that you rescinding the offer?” He was looking at Draco like he was daring him to say ‘yes,’ as if Draco would have even considered it.

            “No.” Draco sighed. “But if it gets to be too much you don’t have to-”

            “I know. I could always come back here or go to Grimmauld Place.” Harry was holding his gaze. He looked like he had on the Manor steps that day. Like it had been long enough and like even if it wasn’t Harry wasn’t going to let that stop him from getting used to the place Draco lived.

            Like rolling up his sleeves had been working, maybe. “Okay. I won’t tell her right away, though.”

            “Afraid I’ll invite you to mine?”

            “If I stayed with you we wouldn’t get anything done at all.”

            “We seem to be doing fine right now.”

            Draco glanced between Harry and the books scattered open across the sitting room table, none of which had been touched in thirty minutes at least. “Could have fooled me.”

            “You know,” Harry continued, entirely too casual, “tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.”

            “Oh my god,” Draco groaned. He had been trying to figure out Harry’s plans all week, but every time he suggested something to have it mysteriously unanswered or properly shot down, his next guess turned out worse.

            “I should be offended that you sound so worried, but I’m not even surprised.”

            “God, no,” Draco said. “What are you going to do to me?”

            “Our relationship is built on a foundation of honesty-”

            “You mean like the time we lied to each other about being even in Hogsmeade so we could keep pretending it was a date?”

            “Exactly. And I am going to be honest with you and say that this conversation is going about as well as I expected it to.”

            “I don’t see why you can’t just tell me.”

            “If I tell you, it would ruin the surprise.”

            “I was wrong. This relationship can’t survive. We should get out while we still can. Spare ourselves the inevitable messy breakup that’ll happen tomorrow after whatever creative form of torture you have in store for me.”

            “I didn’t think you hated surprises that much.” Harry was grinning like he fucking knew better.

            Probably because he did. “When it comes to you, surprises are usually unprecedented and awful, like getting your name put in the Goblet of Fire or having your picture on the front cover of the Quibbler.”

            “That was definitely not my fault, and you hung out with Luna for _four hours_ yesterday.”

            “She was helping me think of a good surprise for tomorrow,” said Draco, which, though it was complete nonsense, would hopefully annoy Harry at least a little. Then, for emphasis, he added, “ _For you_.”

            “That means she knows what both of us are doing tomorrow. That’s cheating!”

            Luna may not have helped him, but Draco had told her his plans. And if that had any bearing at all on the advice she may have given Harry since then- Draco contemplated that for a moment. “It’s more likely to be hilarious or embarrassing, because she probably coordinated her advice so that whatever we do dovetails with what the other one does. Luna loves both of us, though, so it would be great. If I had asked her for advice. But I didn’t. Asked Serena.”

            Harry groaned. “We could just tell each other now and save ourselves the trouble.”

            “Don’t tell me that was a real suggestion.”

            Harry smiled. “Worth a try.”

            “You probably would have made me say first and then kept yours a secret anyway.”

            “That would be awfully hypocritical of me.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Because that’d be a first. You don’t need to feel bad about your past, Draco, don’t take me sitting in a corner blaming myself for the collective wizarding population’s sins as an example. Don’t worry about that Charms essay, Draco, I’m sure Professor Flitwick will let you off easily when he finds out even the student catching up on two years of History curriculum was able to do it!”

            “Hermione offered to help you, too.”

            “Copying off Hermione in the year when professors are most likely to notice didn’t sound like the best plan. And I’m not going to learn anything if I don’t do it myself.”

            “You two are a lot alike. It’s too bad she’s not as good at date advice as Luna.”

            “Did you say date?”

            “No.” Harry was blushing furiously.

            Draco couldn’t help it; he was beaming. “I wasn’t even trying to get it out of you. You just gave up the surprise.”

            “Not really. And now that you know, I’m just going to think of another surprise.”

            “Oh, god.” Draco could see that Harry wasn’t joking. Of course he wasn’t joking. “What could be more surprising than adapting our unconventional relationship to a date?”

            He looked like he _already had an idea_. “You’ll just have to see. Tomorrow.”

            Draco sighed and collapsed onto his open Astronomy book, pretending he wasn’t looking forward to it.


	21. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of Valentine's Day

            The sounds of the Great Hall breakfast were in full swing. “I’ll just do it now.”

            “What?” Ron dropped his toast.

            “I’m not getting any younger. And it doesn’t make sense to wait until after we’ve spent an entire week of holidays together.”

            “But… it’s breakfast.” Ron stared at Harry, dumbfounded.

            “So?” Harry challenged. “This is sort of the point of the day, isn’t it?”

            “Yes, but- you’ll have to deal with them _all day_. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until-”

            “As usual, the picture of caution, Ronald, but I think Harry knows very well what he’s doing,” Hermione said. She gazed at Harry expectantly.

            He did know very well what he was doing. It would probably consign him and Draco to a few days of hiding in their rooms or being accosted every time they turned a corner. But- given the Hogwarts gossip mill was what it was- this was the most painless option. Harry stood, crossed the Hall, and tapped Draco on the shoulder.

            Draco didn’t look surprised until he processed Harry’s expression. Then he dropped his voice so low that only Harry could hear him. "You're not going to properly ask me on a date for the first time in front of the whole school?" He shot a pointed glance around the packed Great Hall.

            “Do you want to come sit with me?” It was Harry asking, because Draco wouldn’t touch him without asking, and Harry wasn’t about to subject him to this if he didn’t want it.

            Draco raised his eyebrows in astonishment, twisting his lips up into a half-smile, half-smirk, and stood. The motion sent up a flurry of louder chatter, and Harry glanced at the high table and nodded to a curious Headmistress McGonagall as he led Draco back to the Gryffindor table.

            Despite his amused expression, Draco pitched his voice low. “Are you sure you want to- I mean-” Draco cut off at the look of plain determination in Harry’s eyes.

            Harry leveled him a gaze. “Yes. If you don’t want me to make a scene, that’s fine.”

            “No, I… I mean…” Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting the surprise to be _this_. But I guess I can’t have expected anything different.” He smiled softly. “It is you, after all.”

            “I don’t have to say anything about you being over here.” Because he didn’t. Even though he wanted to. After all, this part was only the first surprise.

            Draco tempered his gaze and said, “Might I ask why you’ve planned on making a scene at breakfast?”

            Ron snorted sympathetically. Draco had taken the seat across from him.

            “I’m just tired,” and, as Harry said it, he realized that, yes, that was why he’d decided to do this in front of the whole bloody school. “Do you mind me drawing attention to you?”

            “As your friend?” Draco’s eyes were glittering.

            “Draco.”

            “Do it.”

            “Are you sure?”  
            “Do I look uncertain?” There was that challenging edge in his voice. Like he’d just dared Harry to do a seeker dive off the Astronomy tower.

            Which was pretty close to what he was about to do. “Alright.” Harry was sitting the wrong way on the bench next to Draco. The whole hall was looking from when he’d dragged him over to the table a moment before. Harry took Draco’s hand.

            A hush fell over the hall.

            Harry kept his voice at a normal volume as he met Draco’s eyes. “Draco?”

            “Yes?” the loudness of Draco’s voice surprised him.

            Well. If his soon-to-be-official-boyfriend was putting on a show. Harry raised his voice and asked, “Would you go out with me?”

            Stunned silence waiting for his response.

            Draco’s expression was all affection, all amusement, all disbelief. “Yes.”

            Absolute chaos.

            “HEY!” Harry shouted. They obliged him. “I meant it, I’m bisexual, and apparently I’m dating Draco, now, so you can all get back to your breakfasts.” He spun around to sit properly and attempted to ignore the deafening sound of mingled cheers and outrage.

            Draco squeezed his hand under the table.

            “Ron?” Harry asked.

            “Hm?”

            “You’ve dropped your spoon.”

            “Right.” Ron picked up his spoon, still evidently stunned, and resumed eating while Hermione patted his arm reassuringly.

            “Make plans later?” Harry asked Draco. He had his own plans, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think whatever Draco had come up with wouldn’t require some coordination.

            “What? Oh. Yes. We have Potions together, don’t we?”

            “That we do.” Harry suppressed a smile at the dazed tone in Draco’s voice.

            Ron, seeming to have recovered partially, nodded at Harry. “I suppose that’s one way of doing it.”

            “Well, you know, I’ve just gotten tired of it all. And I figured things didn’t work out well in the past, so I may as well try a different approach.”

            Voice still weak, Ron said, “Yeah.”

            “Look out, Harry,” Hermione muttered. Before Harry could ask, Professor McGonagall was on them.

            “Mr. Potter.” She blinked.

            “Detention?” Harry asked.

            “What?”

            “I’ve caused this riot,” he nodded at the mess of noise behind him. “So, detention? House points lost?”

            “No.” Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and made her voice loud enough to be heard against at least some of the din. “I wanted to be the first one to offer my support. Barring Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, of course.”

  
            He hadn’t been expecting that. “Thank you, Professor.”

            “And I might add that in my time at Hogwarts I… Well, I am proud to have seen a student become comfortable making such declarations so openly.” She smiled suggestively. Ron dropped his spoon again.

            “I owe it all to Dean and Seamus,” Harry said. “They set quite the example.”

            “Yes, well… running off into the sunset to found a new Quidditch team and postwar radio enterprise are admirable pursuits.”

            “They are indeed,” agreed Hermione.

            “And if either of you runs into any trouble,” Professor McGonagall offered a sincere look to Draco, “please let me know right away. I won’t have Hogwarts’s legacy defaced by intolerance.”

            “Thank you, Professor,” Draco said.

            Harry matched his sincerity. “Thank you, Professor.”

            “Anytime. Malfoy. Potter.” She turned and swept back up to the high table, dignified as ever.

            Professor McGonagall may have been the first, but she was by no means the last. For the duration of breakfast, various students approached the table to offer similar shows of support. While Harry was grateful and surprised at the outset, he started to warm up to people as breakfast went on; a glowing sort of confidence had been awakened in some of the students, and it was thawing Harry’s icy apathy like few things had that year. And he supposed it made sense- Dean and Seamus had, after all, run off into the sunset before getting serious. Pansy and Serena may have been obvious about their affections, but Luna and Ginny and most of the others were either too busy or too private to do anything that could be considered a public statement.

            Everything Harry said was a public statement whether he liked it or not.

            Harry was tired of secrets. He was tired of running, tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of trying to look disengaged enough to keep people from asking. He wanted some peace, and maybe telling people anything important before the infamous Hogwarts rumor mill or the Daily Prophet had a chance to get hold of it would take the sensationalism out of it.

            “Hang on,” Draco said, turning to him. “Why would we need to make plans if mine’s staying a secret ‘til it’s happening and your surprise already happened?”

            Harry grinned. “I told you I’d think of another one.”

            Draco turned to Ron. “Your best mate’s a massive wanker.”

            “He’s been calling me that or worse once a day for about a week,” Harry explained happily.

            To which Ron replied, “Well, it’s sort of true, isn’t it? I mean, you have been withholding news from Hermione and me. I’m not saying we have exclusive rights or whatever, but it would’ve been nice to know before the whole school.”

            “You basically knew. And it would have ruined the surprise,” Harry justified. He could have pointed out that he hadn’t been ready for it to be anyone’s but his and Draco’s, but that wasn’t something he felt like explaining in the middle of a packed Great Hall. Or maybe ever.

            Draco shot Harry a contemplative look. “The surprise thing was why I called you a wanker a second ago, but Weasley’s got a point. You did tell Luna first.”

            Harry glared at Draco. “She’s barely known more than Ron and Hermione, and that was because she figured it out! And thanks for betraying me.”

            “I’ve agreed to be your boyfriend, not sworn an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty.”

            “There! That’s it, isn’t it?” Ron sounded even more exasperated than he had before. He was gesturing wildly, breakfast forgotten. “You’re already using the b-word and I didn’t even know about this.”

            Hermione looked like she didn’t want to make the end of the meal into more of a scene than it already had been. “We knew some things, Ron. And we’ve all been really busy.”

            “Don’t get on me about being busy, you’ve got more homework then all of us! If you can find time to knit a blanket for Hagrid, Harry can spare five minutes-”

            “Five- d’you really think that’d be enough time to-” Harry cut off, realizing that the three of them- and a few of the people in the general vicinity- he could feel Ginny smiling at the back of his head- were staring at him with raised eyebrows. “What?”

            “Oh, Harry,” Hermione said with a pitying smile. “You’ve been rather obvious about it, haven’t you?”

            “That’s- I- If we’ve been so obvious why is Ron even upset?”

            “Because you didn’t _say_ anything. How-” Ron cut off, frowning. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.” Auror instincts kicking in. “And I don’t want to ruin whatever other ridiculous thing my wanker of a best mate is planning for you, Draco. So, Harry, maybe we should-”

            “Find an empty classroom and cast some silencing spells?” Harry suggested.

            “You’ve got History.”

            “I’ve read the book twice already. Binns won’t even notice if I’m late.” Yeah, there’d be a cloud hanging over Harry’s head until he talked to Ron and he didn’t want that getting in the way of whatever Draco had planned, but Harry also couldn’t stand the thought of Ron walking around thinking Harry didn’t trust him anymore.

            “Fine. But you two leave first.” When Harry furrowed his brow, Ron added, with a gesture to the Hall, “Make them think you don’t want to be followed.”

            Harry realized how it would look if he and Ron marched angrily out of the Hall right after what he’d just done. “Alright. Meet on the third floor, near the statue of the one-eyed witch in ten minutes?”

            “We’d better say fifteen.”

            “Right. Draco?”

            “It’s a good plan. I’m not letting go of your hand, though.” On the way out, as a chorus of wolf-whistles and loud commentary followed them, Draco lowered his voice and said, “He’s not going to be more upset because I held your hand, you know.”

            “I know,” sighed Harry.

            “Hey,” said Draco. “It’ll be alright.”

            “Yeah.”

            Draco took him all the way to the third floor. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

            “’Course you will.”

            “Meet me in the Entrance Hall.”

            Harry made a sound of surprise.

            “Does it conflict with your plans?”

  
            “No, just… you’re going to feed me?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Okay. Well my other surprise isn’t ‘til later, so that’s fine, then.”

            “See you later, then.”

            “Yeah.”

            Draco squeezed his hand, and then he was off.

            Ron showed up ten minutes after that. “Find a room?”

            “Yeah, there’s… this one,” Harry said, ducking into the familiar disused classroom.

            Ron followed him in and shut the door. He threw up a privacy spell before Harry got the chance and said, “You didn’t tell us.”

            “I know.”

            “You didn’t tell me.”

            Harry shoved his fingers up under his glasses to press them to his eyes for a second. Then he sighed, dropped his hands, looked at Ron and said, “I know I didn’t.”

            Ron’s expression was careful, his question quieter than Harry expected. “Why?”

            “I wasn’t ready to tell anyone until yesterday. But that isn’t really- I didn’t tell you because I thought you knew enough, and when I was finally ready to do it properly I thought it’d be better to rip off the bandage.”

            “Ouch.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            Ron shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to be sorry. I just didn’t think you felt we’d… drifted apart, or something. Didn’t think you’d feel like you _needed_ to rip off the bandage with me.”

            Harry didn’t know what to say, because the only answer his brain was providing was ‘I fucked up’ and he felt like he owed Ron more than that.

            “I mean, I know you’re- figuring everything out, with History and everything, and that you needed some space-”

            “Not from you,” Harry blurted.

            “I didn’t mean-”

            “No, you’re right. I could have asked you. I could have asked McGonagall about you but instead I jumped at the first opportunity she gave me because… I didn’t need space from you. I needed space from everyone. And it seemed like I would get that, so I took the rooms.”

            “And now?” Ron sounded tentative.

            “Now I feel like a massive wanker for not rushing down to Gryffindor Tower as soon as I’d had the thought last night and telling you.”

            Ron shook his head. “It’s alright. As long as we’re still-”

            “The two idiots who Hermione took the fall for first year because we saved her from the stupid troll?”

            Ron smiled. “That’s sorted, then. Although you owe me majorly for neglecting to abandon your well-warmed bed to formally present your relationship for my approval.”

            “You went on a detective mission together! And technically I don’t think it was my bed, at least not last night.”

            “Detective missions presumably conducted before you’d done more than gaze into each other’s eyes don’t count as official approval.” Ron sighted and glanced at his watch. “And much though I’d love to hear the details, you really are late.”

            “I think you’re expanding your vocabulary by osmosis.”

            “That is generally how being near Hermione works. You’re waiting for a hug, aren’t you?”

            Harry nodded and threw his arms open as Ron rolled his eyes.

            Ron’s hugs were sturdy, and comforting, and always reassured Harry that it would take a lot more than a thoughtless decision to lose his friendship. “I love you, Harry, but I am not going to be responsible for you missing the most important lesson of the year.”

            Harry stepped back and headed for the door, lifting Ron’s privacy spell- which they thankfully hadn’t needed- as he went. “How d’you know it’s going to be the most important lesson of the year?”

            “I don’t,” Ron said. He shut the door behind him and started drifting towards the library. “But is it really worth the risk?”

            Harry shrugged. “Some things are.”

            Harry heard Ron sigh as they started down the corridor in opposite directions. He could practically hear a resigned ‘Draco’s rubbing off on you’ afterwards.

            He smiled at the thought.

 

            When he finally made it back to the Entrance Hall, Harry found Draco hovering at the last left bannister.

            Harry came to a stop in front of him and ignored the stares. He’d been getting more of them than usual on the way down, and it didn’t help that he and Draco had finally been reunited. “I was more right about History than I thought, these past two hours have been torturous, please put me out of my misery and show me already.”

            Draco grinned. “You know, I’m going to do it anyway. You needn’t be so-”

            Harry emitted a soft whine. He tried not to care that anyone could have heard it in the echoey open space.

            Draco’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I presume you’re ready to go, then?” He held out a hand, and Harry took it.

            “Where are we going?” Harry realized that maybe he should stop asking questions because if he kept at it Draco would think it was okay to assault him with questions later.

            “Outside.”

            “Should I summon the cloak?”

            Draco shook his head. “Took care of it.”

            “You have the-”

            “No, Potter, I took care of the privacy magic. I didn’t rifle through your trunk to steal a beloved ancient artifact from you.”

            “You could have, though.”

            Draco stopped, so Harry stopped.

            “What?”

            Draco was giving him a confused look. “We’ve been dating for three hours.”

            “Technically I think it’s negative five minutes, since the first one hasn’t started yet, but sure.”

            “You know I wasn’t entirely serious, when we first got together and I said we were basically engaged, right?”

            “I took that to mean you were in it for the long haul but that it didn’t have to be that serious because we’re eighteen and still in school.”

            “Yes, but-” Draco cut off, perplexed expression still in place. He looked contemplative for a moment. Then, “You got all that from one sentence?”

            Harry just looked at him.

            Draco blushed and tugged Harry forward again. “We’ve only got an hour. I don’t want to be late for Charms.”

            Harry smiled as Draco dragged him around behind the greenhouses. After a glance over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed, Draco reached down to pull on a patch of grass.

            Except it wasn’t grass. It was the softest-looking carpet Harry had ever seen.

            “Is that-?”

            “Yes, flying carpet, very exciting, possibly a little illegal, please get on so we can have lunch in the sky.” Draco collapsed gracefully into a cross-legged position and patted the space in front of him.

            Harry stepped onto the carpet and sat, shivering a little as a wave of privacy magic rolled over him. “No one will be able to see us?”

            “Ideally. Serena helped with that part, and none of our tests failed. Are you ready?”

            Harry glanced around. He’d dumped his bag in the grass next to Draco’s, and there was a good foot and a half of space on either side of him. “How exactly does this work?”

            “You come over here so I can be one of those muggle safety belt things for you while we take off, and then when we’re in the air I can unshrink the lovely picnic the house elves made us and we’ll fly around until we’re late to Charms.”

            Harry scooted across the carpet and turned to press his back to Draco’s chest. “I’m not opposed to this plan, but what’s going to be your muggle safety belt thing?”

            He could hear the eye-roll in Draco’s response. “I wouldn’t take you on a flying carpet if I hadn’t ridden it first.”

            Harry tried to keep his voice even at the very-not-broomlike swooping sensation of taking off. Draco’s arms definitely helped. “You know, this is actually-”

            “A total rip-off of Alladin, I know,” Draco said into his ear.

            “The food part’s original. Although I can’t say I’m especially confident we aren’t going to drop it all.” They had reached what Harry assumed was cruising altitude. Draco had loosened his grip a little, but Harry was still leaning on him. He didn’t really feel like moving just then- Draco warm and solid behind him and the Hogwarts grounds spread out quiet and frost-coated below, the familiar weightless sensation of flying accented by the unfamiliarity of the carpet, magic tingling on his skin from the privacy spells and Draco’s warming charms and whatever enchantments were keeping them in the air.

            “Do you trust me?”

            Harry twisted around to meet his eyes. There was slight uncertainty there, because it was new- this was all new, not just this to Harry but both of them doing this at all, making their relationship something else.

            The trusting part was older, comfortable, well-worn over months of inching closer until the distance disappeared practically without either of them noticing.

            So Harry said, “Of course I trust you.”

            “Then relax and enjoy your date.”

            Harry did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene of this chapter was the one that inspired this whole story (sans Ron argument)- I didn't know it'd take 21 chapters to get here, but 'tis the way of serial fanfiction


	22. Compliments

            After Astronomy Harry pulled him into an alcove, said, “It’s time for my other surprise,” and spun Draco to face away from him.

            “What’s this?”

            “A blindfold.”

            Merlin fucking hell Draco could _tell_ it was a blindfold, it was the _point_ of it he wanted to- “Why?”

            “Because if you see the surprise it’ll ruin it.”

            Draco sighed and reminded himself that he didn’t really need to be nervous because Harry had trusted him on a damned flying carpet after growing up in a muggle house so there was no question of him trusting Harry. This was easier thought than accomplished. “Fine. I’ll be patient. I’ll try to be patient,” he amended.

            Harry guided him down a corridor for approximately ten seconds before his patience failed.

            “I can’t be patient what is it?”

            Harry sighed. “If you’d wait just a few minutes-”

            “If you took it off and let me walk myself we would get there faster.”

            “But that would ruin the surprise.” Damnit. Harry sounded like he’d expected this.

            Draco decided to change tactics. “This is the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me.”

            “You know, Draco, it would be a lot easier for me to get you there if you weren’t whinging the entire way.”

            “I’m not whinging. I’m making conversation. Contrary to what you might think, there’s a difference.”

            Harry didn’t reply, but Draco could tell he was rolling his eyes.

            “Oh, yes, mock me when I can’t defend myself!”

            “What proof do you have, exactly?” demanded Harry. “And stairs down.”

            Draco took a few stumbling downward steps and tried to remember which staircase felt like this. None came to mind. “I don’t have any proof, because I’m dating someone smart enough not to fall into easy traps.”

            Harry withheld his response again, but Draco had a feeling he was smiling.

            They made it to the top of the stairs and down two more corridors before Harry said, “Doorway.”

            “Doorway? If you’re taking me to a _room_ , why did we need to-”

            “Draco.” Harry’s voice was low, and promising, and caused a shiver of excitement to run through him.

            “This had better be good, Potter,” Draco said anyway, knowing his tone didn’t match the words.

            Harry placed a hand on either of his shoulders to stop him. “One more minute.”

            Draco bit his tongue and waited, nerves spiking by the second.

            “Open.” Harry was standing in front of him with a big red bow stuck to his chest.

            “Well,” Draco said after a moment, “I definitely wasn’t expecting _this_.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “Care to explain?” Draco’s gaze flitted from Harry’s face to the bow and back again.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day, your gift is me?”

            Draco held his gaze steady, eyes boring into Harry’s as he tried to determine exactly how Harry meant it.

            “I’m here,” Harry said. “I’m here, I’m yours, I’m ready to kiss you all the time, I want to do this-”

            Draco cut him off with a kiss, mouth meeting Harry’s surprised one and coaxing a smile. He pulled back a second later, breathless, expression promising ‘I’m going to take you up on that’ even as he said, “Sorry. Didn’t let you finish.”

            Harry’s hands snaked around his neck; Draco’s were already on his waist. “I was almost done, anyway. Maybe something about being all in if you were.”

            Draco dropped his voice to a whisper. “If?”

            “Bit presumptuous of me to make myself a gift if it wasn’t an offer- instead of something you already knew you had.”

            “But you said you knew I-”

            “You’ve never said it.”

            Draco inhaled a deep breath that smelled like Harry (and he wanted them all to smell like Harry) and said, “I’m here, too. For you. Just you. Just this. However much you want.”

            Harry smiled. “That’s what I was trying to offer.”

            “You gave me two gifts. At least let me share this one.”

            “You’re greedy.”

            “Wouldn’t want someone so wonderful if I wasn’t.”

            They had to take a break from kissing eventually, because that was enough, for the moment. Even if Draco thought of Harry during his shower.

            “You good?”

            “I’ve gone from not having a boyfriend to being in a serious relationship with you over the course of a day.” Draco leaned on the bed for the lightest brush of lips. “Of course I’m good.”

            Harry’s voice was light. “Serious relationship? Have we got properly engaged without my noticing?”

            “No. I just meant- it’s us.”

            “Yeah. So it’s all serious.”

            Draco collapsed on top of the covers. “Exactly. I think I like it, though.”

            Harry smiled an ‘I know what you mean’ smile for a beautiful second before rolling off the bed to get ready to sleep himself. “What a glowing compliment.”

            When Harry came back into the room and got under the covers on his side (Draco’d already slid over for him), Draco asked, “Did you have a good Valentine’s?”

            “I spent it with you.”

            “Stop complimenting me.”

            Harry turned to be the little spoon instead of answering.

            “I had a good day, too. For the same reason.” Draco kissed his shoulder.

            Harry laced his fingers with Draco’s and squeezed.

 

            Draco loved dating Harry.

            He loved holding hands in the corridors (and the way Harry glared at people when they looked askance at it, even though they mostly didn’t). He loved being able to nudge Harry’s foot under the Slytherin table (and keep doing it until footsie turned into a most-limbs-involved battle to shove each other off the bench). He loved saying “hang on” in the middle of a Runes chapter and turning to Harry on their sofa to snog him senseless at regular intervals when studying (and the way Harry looked at him just before their lips met).

            He loved Harry.

            But he also knew that the end of February, or the beginning of March, when Harry still laughed nervously every time they kissed so hard one of them felt compelled to pull away, was not necessarily the best time to tell him that.

            Or maybe it was, because Draco did it anyway.

            They were on the sofa smiling at each other in the moments after a tongue-inclusive study break and Harry looked so caught, tied to that feeling like he maybe didn’t want to leave it and Draco didn’t, and Draco was caught.

            So he took a breath and said, “I love you.”

            He had been a little worried, even though he knew Harry knew it and probably that he loved Draco back, because Harry didn’t want to rush. He never had. Neither had Draco.

            Draco realized in a breathless moment, eyes undropped by Harry’s just-slightly-surprised ones, that it wasn’t rushing at all.

            Harry was looking at him like he would have said it already if he maybe weren’t also worried about the same thing. And like he loved him. “I love you, too.”

            And Harry kept looking, and looking, and looking, and Draco didn’t know what to do. “Is that all?”

            Harry laughed. “I should be asking you that. But yes, I suppose it is.”

            And they went back to studying except now they were holding hands.

            Draco always wanted to be holding hands.

 

            By the end of March the homework was. Bad.

            “Are you okay?” Harry asked him at least six times a day.

            “Of course, Potter, I’m me,” Draco would say (or something like it) in response.

            Except it was becoming more and more difficult for him to say it and really mean it.

            Draco knew what he was doing after school. He knew it was going to be difficult and that he was going to do it anyway. He knew that he probably didn’t need many NEWTs to accomplish it, that the task would be a combination of persistence and luck.

            Not needing the NEWTs somehow made them worse.

            Perhaps it was because he had always, always, always gotten top marks. Or because the fact he’d come back to school at all had him hell-bent on finishing on a positive note. Or because, no matter how many times Draco reminded himself the NEWTs wouldn’t translate directly into his chosen career, people would be judging him for them, anyway.

            Whatever it was, it was ratcheting up his stress levels almost higher than Harry-related bliss could counter. Or not almost. If Draco was being honest with himself, which he always had to be because Merlin he was a survivor not a fucking coward, Draco had to admit that the Harry-related bliss was acting on a different part of his brain. Leaving the stressed part to go about its business (namely, freaking out) largely unmolested. Which meant Draco was stressed all the time.

            It didn’t help that the competing-with-Potter part of his brain was only partially separate from the in-love-with-Harry part. Because that caused Draco to have very confusing reactions to Harry’s continued expressions of nonchalance towards homework, and NEWTs, and the future. And was maybe the reason Harry’s reassurance didn’t help as much as it might have.

            At any rate, the castle-wide NEWT panic was getting to him, and it wasn’t pleasant.

            “Have you tried reorganization? I find it helps me assess the amount of work I have to do, and more often than not it’s not as bad as I imagined.” Hermione suggested this during one of their study sessions, many of which now took place in the Gryffindor common room. The constant flow of activity provided a comforting backdrop and a less tense environment than the library, and the portrait always let Draco in when Harry was there even if he didn’t have the password.

            “I think I’ve reached the point where reorganization would help me procrastinate more than it’d help me study.”

            Hermione offered a sympathetic smile. “Well, if there’s ever anything I can do to help…”

            “Thanks.”

            “You’re wasting your breath, Hermione,” Harry said, like Draco wasn’t even there (and so what if he hadn’t stopped reading through the entire conversation, he was still listening).

            “If he’s anything like you, and I suspect he is by the way he’s reading right now,” Draco flipped Ron off for that, but Ron continued like he hadn’t, “he isn’t going to ask for help until the homework starts causing regular daytime hallucinations or something.”

            “I’m pretty sure they already have. He spent a solid three minutes trying to banish a fly that wasn’t even there yesterday.”

            Draco got his middle finger out again, directing it at Harry this time.

            “If I recall correctly,” Ron said slowly, “the last time Hermione got like this our insistence on a break worked wonders for group sanity.”

            “I’m not ‘like this,’ Ronald. I’m fine. If anything, _you’re_ the one who’s-”

            “Yes, yes, I know, studying too hard, so surprising, auror determination whatever. So let’s take a break.”

            “I’m not doubling with the two of you,” Draco said firmly, still reading. “Harry would do something disgusting and you’d want to steer clear of him for weeks afterward, and I’d get the short end of that straw-”

            “I’ve only snogged you in public, like, twice!” Harry protested.

            Draco finally had to look up. “I meant romantic.”

            Harry opened his mouth to probably say ‘I’m not that bad,’ thought better of it, closed his mouth, took a breath and tried, “I was with Ron and Hermione right when-”

            “No, I was with them _right when_ ,” Ginny said, appearing out of nowhere with Blaise just behind her. “You were in the comfort and safety of your miserable house. I, on the other hand, was in the same house as the two of them nearly every minute of every day.” She took a spare chair.

            Blaise hovered behind her.

            “Why are you here? I thought the décor clashed with your personality,” said Draco.

            “Looking for you. Pansy and Serena have had another row, they’re both refusing to talk to me, and Theo’s nowhere to be found.”

            Draco sighed. They had a Charms test the next day, and he didn’t exactly feel secure in his knowledge of the curriculum.

            “I’ll go,” Harry said, flipping his book shut and rising. “They both love me.”

            Draco gazed up at him. “But the Charms homework.”

            Harry shrugged. “I’m alright with Charms. I actually paid attention the past two weeks.”

            He had a point about wasting less class time staring at Draco (the snogging had taken the edge off). Still, though. “Why are you so good?” Draco asked.

            “I don’t know, years of encouragement?”

            “You’re cute, yes, you love Draco, everybody knows, please come right away they were throwing things, Harry. Furniture-shaped things.”

            “Furniture-shaped things?” asked Draco.

            Blaise windmilled his arms in an attempt to convey just how bad the furniture-shaped things had been. “The common room didn’t like them taking- there was transfiguration- just, you’ll hear about it later, lend me your boyfriend.”

            Draco sighed. “See you in the room. Good luck.”

            Harry flashed a smile. “See you.”

            Once he and Blaise were out of earshot, Draco said, “What did I do to deserve him?”

            Ron’s voice tore Draco’s eyes away from the portrait closing behind Harry. “I know what he did to deserve you.”

            Draco held his gaze for a second before returning to his Charms notes. He smiled a little even though he knew he was pinker than usual. “Is there a reason Gryffindors are so fond of giving compliments?”

            “We love you, too, Draco,” Ginny laughed.

 

            “You’re going to do fine.”

            “It’s a week and a half until break and then after that there’s just- it’s just study guides and NEWTs, Harry.” Draco didn’t know where he was going with his point, but he did know he was outwardly expressing the stress enough to be pacing.

            “You’ll do well. You’re one of the top students in our year- in both years.”

            “Edged out by Serena and Hermione this year, and that pack of Ravenclaws who-”

            “NEWTs aren’t competitive,” Harry reminded him.  “And, even if they were, you’d-”

            “Be disappointing?” Draco suggested, coming to a brief halt to look askance at Harry.

            Harry placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “You’d do great. You’re going to do great.”

            “How are you so calm about this?” Draco tried to not sound too out-of-breath from the pacing and the panic. He didn’t think he succeeded.

            “This time last year I was hunting down the bits of a genocidal megalomaniac’s soul and trying not to die in the process. I’m kind of used to higher stakes than this. So are you.” He dropped his hands so he was holding Draco’s.

            Draco relaxed his shoulders a little, but not even a reminder of their respective tragic backstories was enough to throw off weeks of tension. “You’re also ridiculously intelligent without really realizing it. Or without realizing it completely.”

            Harry smiled. “You’re smarter than me.”

            Draco laughed. “You’re right. Our respective tastes in men prove it.”

            Harry furrowed his brow. “You’re amazing.”

            “Hogwarts testing cares not for my scarcity of good qualities.”

            “It’s not a scarcity.”

            Draco snorted.

            “Can I remind you?”

            “You can try, but I don’t know if-”

            Harry cut him off with a kiss, a slow, deep press of lips becoming open mouths and the slide of Harry’s tongue against his.

            The blankness lasted about ten seconds. Then Draco let Harry try for another ten before Draco gave it up and pulled slightly back. “Don’t know if this will really help me forget or just postpone the panic for a few seconds at a time.”

            “That bad?”

            Draco grimaced.

            “Alright,” Harry said, and dropped all but his hand (they’d had their arms half around each other by the end of the kiss) and pulled him in a backwards-for-Harry step towards Draco’s doorway. “Let’s go flying, then.”

            “I haven’t been flying in-”

            “Exactly,” Harry said, daredevil spark flashing in his eyes.

            “I’m an idiot,” Draco decided, following Harry as they retrieved their brooms. He reached up to touch the broom charm around his neck for good measure.

            “Maybe if you _believe_ you are.”

            Draco turned to glare at him. “I thought you were trying to cheer me up, not throw insulting paradoxes at me.”

            “I am trying to cheer you up, how can it be an insult if it’s impossible, and it’s chilly, get your cloak.”

            “It’s not that cold.”

            “We’re going to be in the sky. With wind and everything.”

            Draco gave him a pained look as he reached for his robes, pulling out a full grimace when they dropped hands so he could put his arm through the sleeve.

            Once they were both decked out for the chill of late winter (or early spring) weather, Draco reattached his hand to Harry’s and lead the way downstairs and out into the grounds.

            The sun had long set, but the moon was bright, providing much better conditions than the last time they’d gone out. It was late, and cool, so no one else was out. They held onto each other until they’d made it to the center of the pitch, then broke apart to rise.

            “I have a proposal for you, Potter.”

            “Oh?”

            “Race around the pitch once we hit the top of the stands?” Even as Draco said it they were reaching that height.

            Harry shot forward without hesitation, Draco lunging after him a split second too late. He’d known Harry would take off immediately; Draco hadn’t banked on himself being a bit slower, because he had almost forgotten the joyful, exhilarated expression that exploded across Harry’s face the moment Harry realized it was a race. Draco’d give anything to see that look on Harry again, and again, and again, every day until both of them were- well-

            Fuck, he thought, egging his broom forward. The daydreaming had caused Draco to fall properly behind, and Harry wasn’t one to throw a competition just because Draco was the one they’d technically gone out for.

            “Come on,” Draco said, leaning lower against the handle. He was practically flat against the broom at that point; he was gaining a few inches at a time, a few more inches-

            Harry glanced back, beaming, and it was all Draco could do to keep the edge he’d just gained. It helped that Harry’s face fell from exhilaration into concentration when he realized how close Draco was to overtaking him.

            “Distracted, Potter?”

            “I think you’re projecting!” He had to yell for Draco to hear him, but that was about to change, because Draco was-

            “Yes!” Just as they came around the final stretch, Draco pulled a bit ahead of Harry.

            Both of them had to pull up sharply to avoid crashing into the stands; Draco slowed to a stop, breathing heavily, and Harry came up next to him, staring. “You’re on a 2001.”

            “Better flier, I guess,” Draco said, still breathless.

            “Better my arse,” Harry muttered. He was panting, cheeks flushed with exertion, and he was just so-

            “Beautiful.”

            “What?”

            “You’re beautiful.” Draco was just getting his breath back, and so was Harry, but he didn’t want them to get their breath back, so he kissed him.

            It was everything the kiss in the sitting room wasn’t. Fast and hungry and desperate. Draco couldn’t get enough of the taste of him, couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t bear to keep his hand on the broom handle when it should have been on Harry’s neck-

            “Fuck,” Harry breathed as they leaned away from each other. Draco wouldn’t have let him move if they hadn’t been about to lose their balance. His eyes were on Draco’s, and he looked uncertain.

            Shit. “Sorry.”

            “No,” Harry laughed, “No, it… was just as much me as it was you.” Harry’s eyes went from Draco’s eyes to his lips to some point in the distance, falling out of focus.

            “I’m sorry, anyway,” Draco said softly.

            Harry looked at him. “Stop apologizing.” He sounded exasperated and frustrated and sad.

            “No.”

            They had an argument in looks. Harry’s ‘stop apologizing’ again and Draco’s ‘not a chance’ followed by Harry’s ‘I’m not going to stop apologizing, either.’

            “Back to this, then,” Draco said. He didn’t have to be loud because they were still only a few inches away from each other. Floating above an endless stretch of shadow with the moon-catching blades of grass waiting far below.

            “You promised you’d give me time,” Harry said, a little playful, a little rueful.

            Draco was all sincerity. “I am. As much as you need.”

            Harry looked away again. “We’re supposed to be flying.”

            Draco reached out to touch his hand, just enough so Harry turned back to him. “Then let’s fly.”

            He should have known from Harry’s answering smile that he was well and truly fucked. “Race around the outside this time?”

            It was all Draco could do to get going before Harry gained too much of a lead. “You’re lucky I love you. I wouldn’t stand for this… cheating… otherwise!”

            Harry looked back to find Draco was close, but this time he laughed instead of getting serious. “I love you, too, Draco.”


	23. Back to the Manor

            Harry had told himself the Prophet wasn’t going to be that bad. Draco had told him it wouldn’t be. Ron and Hermione and Hagrid and everyone else he spoke to regularly, not to mention people he didn’t, told him it wasn’t going to be that bad.

            It was worse.

            “How the fuck- shit, sorry Professor,” Blaise said hastily as Honeycutt shot him a look on her way up to the teachers’ table. Once she was out of earshot, he started over. “How the fuck did they find out you were going to the Manor for Easter?”

            Harry shook his head wordlessly.

            “Someone must’ve overheard you and let it slip on the last Hogsmeade weekend,” Serena offered.

            “Wait, we missed a Hogsmeade weekend?” Harry hadn’t necessarily wanted to go- still, missing the opportunity was a bit-

            “Ugh. Weren’t you supposed to take me out for that?” Draco looked slightly disappointed. And didn’t sound angry.

            So, again, not that much of a problem, but still. “Maybe. But you didn’t want to ruin Ron and Hermione- or, well, you didn’t want to let me ruin Ron and Hermione’s image of me by doing something disgustingly romantic around them. It’s not really the same as hanging around here, but we’re together all the time, anyway.”

            “I suppose. I didn’t think you’d be this upset about the Prophet, though.”

            “They know we’re- I mean, they- Draco!” Harry decided getting into the details while so near their classmates-of-questionable-trust wasn’t the best idea.

            Draco shrugged. “We’ve got wards. I’m much more worried about the Runes quiz next-”

            “You’ll do fine,” Serena said with a wave of her hand. “I’m more interested in Harry’s adorable lack of wizarding property knowledge-”

            “Hey! I have a magic house!”

            Blaise snorted. “Yeah, with what, the best protection the Order and the insane family who lived there before them could come up with?”

            “Well- yes, but-”

            Draco shook his head. “But nothing. Those things are a lot simpler than what’s protecting the Manor. The thousand-odd years of history I mentioned includes a thousand-odd years of spells, enchantments, and barriers intended to keep unwanted photographers away from my family.”

            “I still think they shouldn’t-” Harry began, but cut off when Draco placed an imploring hand on his knee.

            Draco met his eyes. “They’re not going to back off this early.”

            “I know.” Harry turned a frustrated gaze on Blaise, then Serena, then a just-approaching Pansy, none of whom offered more than ‘what more can you expect sucks to be you’ looks in return. “I still wish they would.”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t have started dating the most scandalous eligible NEWT student in the school,” suggested Pansy as she took a seat next to Serena.

            “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

            Pansy smiled wickedly. “Not if you want the press to get even worse.”

            “Oh, fuck off. Draco’s worth it, anyway.” Harry turned to the man in question to find him reaching into his bag for notes. “Draco?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Are those Runes notes?”

            “No.” Harry stared, eyebrows raised, until Draco sighed and jammed the notes obligingly back into his bag. “It doesn’t make sense to waste perfectly good time-”

            “Time to eat. And give yourself a break. So you don’t get distracted by hunger midway through class.” Harry held eye contact with Draco until the latter had moved three pieces of toast from a platter to the plate in front of him.

            “Better?” Draco asked.

            “It will be once you eat them.”

            “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” a dreamy voice chimed from right behind Harry, making him jump.

            “Jesus, Luna,” Blaise said with an eye-roll.

            “Sorry. I was just coming over to see how you were all doing.” Luna slipped into the space on the bench beside Draco and rested her head in her hands. “How are you?”

            “I’d be better if Harry would let me look at my Runes notes,” grumbled Draco.

            “He can be a bit domineering when he knows he’s right,” Luna offered. Harry snorted; Draco glared. “Are you looking forward to the holiday next week?”

            “Haven’t been to church since I was three,” Blaise said, “so mostly I’m looking forward to being able to do my homework at whatever time I damn well please instead of constantly.”

            “The benefits of areligious parents. I’m going to have to wear _pastels_ ,” said Pansy darkly.

            “What’s so awful about pastels?” asked Harry.

            “Some of us don’t look good in them,” Luna said as the others glared in unison at him.

            “You’ll have to give me a crash course on fashion at lunch. Draco and I should get going.”

            “It’s ridiculously early,” Serena said with a grin. “Is there any particular reason you’re abandoning us so soon before classes start? I mean, _you_ don’t even have one ‘til this afternoon.”

            Harry stood, swung his bag over his shoulder, and held out a hand to Draco, glaring at Serena.

            “Fuck you, too, then,” she said easily as Harry and Draco exited the Hall.

            “If you’d give me my hand for a minute-”

            “Nope,” Harry said, tightening his grip. “No studying on the walk there, either. I know you’re just going to pull the notes out the second I’m out of sight, but that doesn’t mean you can’t spend ten more minutes not thinking about Runes.”

            Harry could feel Draco’s eyes on him for a few seconds before Draco glanced at the sparsely-populated corridor in front of them. “If you weren’t you I might feel guilty about how much you were helping me.”

            Harry stopped, yanking Draco to an unexpected halt beside him. “What?”

            “You’ve got exams, too.”

            “No, I mean...” Harry shook his head. “You’ve helped me so much. It wouldn’t be right of me not to-”

            “Right my arse. You’re helping me because you’re a good person. Too good a person to deserve me-”

            “No. We are not having this argument again before you go and take an important Runes test.”

            “If it’s so important, why won’t you let me study?”

            Harry stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “We’re not done talking about this. But you’re going to do great. Because you studied hard and you deserve a good grade.” Draco opened his mouth- probably to protest- but Harry held up his free hand. “I’ll see you later?”

            “Lunch,” affirmed Draco. “Love you.”

            “Love you too good luck on your test.”

 

            “She said we could leave whenever?”

            Harry nodded. He and Draco had just got back from Friday’s late Astronomy class. “I mean, there’s the train tomorrow, but if you’re not bringing anything but your notes…”

            “Do you need any luggage?”

            Harry shrugged. “I can just stop at mine and get a backpack or something.”

            “Do you want to go now?”

            “Really?”

            Draco smiled. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

            “You look tired.”

            “I am tired.”

            “Should I go to London first?”

            “I can’t sleep without you, and I’m certainly not planning on letting you out of my sight for more than a few minutes at a time if you’re amenable to the idea.” Draco stroked a trailing hand down Harry’s harm, stopping with the lightest of light grips on his hand.

            “Clingy.” Harry took a step forward to close the distance. “But yes, I’m amenable to the idea.”

            Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “So London or Wiltshire?”

            “You’re the tired one.”

            Draco leaned in to press a kiss to the space under Harry’s ear. “I’m not that tired.”

            Harry shivered. “Fantastic though that sounds, I don’t know that I’m ready to-”

            “We don’t have to do anything.” Draco pulled back to look at him. “We can just sleep.”

            “Thought you said you weren’t that tired?”

            “I’m not. Are you?”

            “Not really. And, granted you’re as prepared to rip your clothes off as you seem to be, there are plenty of things we can do that don’t involve extensive energy or preparation.”

            Despite the shiver Harry could feel through the fabric of Draco’s jumper and the pink rising to his cheeks, Draco replied, smooth as ever, “Like what?”

            Harry grinned. “So, London, then?”

            Draco kissed him in response.

            “Get your bag.”

            “You’re sure you don’t need anything?” Draco asked before casting an expansion charm and beginning to put what may well have been every note he’d taken all year into his bag.

            “No. I mean, I guess I’ll take my things, too, but- should we change?”

            Draco sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it all the way out of the Hogwarts grounds without spontaneously combusting from suppressed lust, let alone pass a few minutes nearly naked only a room away from you without throwing the door open and requesting you demonstrate what you suggested we do tonight earlier than planned, but yes, I suppose you have a point, we should change.”

            Contrary to Draco’s misgivings, they made it all the way to Grimmauld Place without either of them spontaneously combusting from lust.

            It was a close thing, though.

 

            “This is good. We can just keep doing this.”

            “Seriously?”

            “I mean…” Draco slid his hand down Harry’s back, stopping just at the top of his pants and pulling him a few inches closer under the covers. “I said that about the kissing, and obviously I was wrong, then, but I can’t say having orgasms with you is an insignificant bonus.”

            “Where’s the line with that? I mean, is it sex because we got each other off, or-”

            “It’s definitely sex. It doesn’t- well, of course it matters, as I said, orgasms- but as long as we’re having a nice time I still don’t think it matters what we call it.”

            Harry smiled. “That sounds like the kind of thing someone would say in defense of their nonexistent maidenhood.”

            “Potter, what are you implying? Of course I’m a virgin, I don’t count handjobs with Blaise-” he cut off at Harry’s raised eyebrows. “Oh. Was this not a good time to mention that?”

            Harry laughed. “No. But I’ll do you one better- handjobs with Ginny.”

            “Ew. Please don’t.”

            “Well, the plural is probably a bit of an overst-”

            “Honestly please stop my gay ears aren’t in the mood for this right now.” Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck.

            “Sorry.”

            “You should be I’m offended.”

            Harry held the probably-not-really-offended Draco for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of his newly-warm cheek pressed against Harry’s chest, and the slightly-possessive way Draco’s fingers clung to his lower back, and the way Draco’s just-a-bit-agitated breaths slowed as Harry’s recently-laughing ones did. “When did you want to leave?” Harry finally asked.

            “Not now. It’d ruin the moment.” After another few seconds, Draco sighed obligingly. “I guess we should leave soon. Should we use washing our clothes from last night as an excuse to stay here longer?”

            “I thought you liked your house.”

            “I do like my house.” Draco shimmied an inch or five back to look at Harry. “I don’t like the homework I am going to feel the need to do the second I tumble gracefully out of your bed.”

            “You won’t fall-”

            “Already have.”

            “I’ll catch you, th-”

            “Already did.”

            Harry shot him an amused- and doubtful, but Harry couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice- look. “Who’s the disgustingly romantic one now?”

            “It’s always been me. You just don’t pay close enough attention to notice.”

            Harry tilted his head so the tip of his nose was nearly touching Draco’s, dropping his voice to an accusatory whisper. “Who’s the distraction, then?”

            Draco offered him a ‘let’s not’ expression and rolled backwards, leaving Harry’s arms empty. “How fast can Kreacher wash clothes?”

            “In a few seconds, probably. Why are you suddenly in such a hurry?” Harry dragged himself out of bed and went to get a clean pair of pants. Nice though lazing-around-half-dressed may be, he was eager to find out whether Draco’s punctuality could suffer a shower.

            Draco had gathered up their clothes and transferred them to Harry’s hamper. “Because it’s midday and I don’t want to show up hours after the Hogwarts Express would have.”

            “Do we have time to shower?”

            Draco took a few steps toward him, and Harry was suddenly painfully aware that they were both close to being naked. “Was that your way of offering to share the hot water so you don’t use it all?”

            “Was that a ‘yes’?”

            Without breaking eye contact, Draco stepped back, slipped out of his underwear, and threw them into the hamper. “Shall I start the water?”

            Harry nodded.

            “See you in a minute, then.”

            Harry waited until Draco’s over-the-shoulder smirk had disappeared around the bathroom doorway before shucking off the remainder of his clothes and starting after him.

 

            Harry had been fine the first time he’d gone back to the Manor. Mostly. He was fine the second time, too. Or would be. Because if something happened and he suddenly wasn’t he could always go back to Grimmauld Place and Draco would understand that better than anyone and he’d shown Draco that place and Draco was showing him this place, showing him _his_ place, and Harry knew how important that was. Letting someone in. He knew how hard it was. Easier for him than for Draco, because that was just who they were.

            Which made this so much. It was so much that Draco was giving him. And he was good. Harry had been really, really good. A few days in the Manor were not going to fuck that up. They were going to let him get to know Draco, more than he already had, and that was… enough. To make up for it.

            It’d have to be.

            “… sure you’re okay?”

            “You’ve asked me six times since I’ve come in.”

            “Yes, well…” Draco looked too nervous. Harry didn’t want him to be nervous. Draco shouldn’t have to be nervous. “That wasn’t this.”

            “I’ll be fine. And I know if I’m not I can always-”

            “We can always.” Draco’s voice was unbearably quiet for the last words, “If you want me.”

            Harry smiled. “Of course I want you. That’s why I’m here.”

            They’d just had lunch and Draco had gotten about ten seconds into the tour before asking Harry if he was okay again. Which he was. Lunch with Draco’s mother had been lovely just like tea had been lovely. And Harry hadn’t been lying then when he’d said he was fine. And he wasn’t lying to Draco this time, either. He wasn’t going to. If something went wrong he’d just-

            Fuck. He was doing it again. Harry took a deep breath and grabbed Draco’s hand, willing the uncertainty away. He was fine and he knew he was fine because if he wasn’t he wouldn’t have been able to keep telling himself, over and over again, that he was fine. He was just worried about what would happen if he wasn’t fine, which was absurd, because he wasn’t going to not be fine and even if he was-

            “Harry.”

            “Sorry.”

            Draco squeezed his hand. He looked concerned. And a little frustrated. He sounded concerned. “What are you worried about? I know it’s a stupid question, I just-”

            “It’s not a stupid question. And I agreed to this. So can you please stop blaming yourself for- nothing, by the way, because I’m fine- and show me all the amazing things you’ve been mentioning since I said I’d come here?”

            Draco took a deep breath and smiled, and Merlin Harry needed to see that because it told him that Draco wasn’t about to spend the next week constantly worried that Harry wasn’t okay on top of everything else he was worried about, and he said, “Do you want to see the record books first?” and Harry was ecstatic and relieved to find that he did want to see the record books.

            “Come on, then,” Draco said, taking a few steps down the hallway. “I’ll show you.”

 

            They spent that next hour, and another one, and maybe half of another one paging through the Malfoy library- or Harry did, with Draco’s guidance- and then Draco asked if he wanted to actually see some of the things mentioned in the records, most of which were scattered throughout the Manor, so Harry finally got his tour.

            The rest of the evening was a blur of stories and backtracking and dinner, a few hours after which they took a stack of books into Draco’s room for an earlier night than the one before. Draco was still hesitant, glancing up sometimes from his notes- because he was studying, of course he was studying- to shoot nervous looks at Harry that Harry met with smiles.

            Finally Draco looked tired enough. Harry felt tired enough with reading, and like his body wanted him to catch up on sleep, even though the worry had been lighting up the back of his mind in the absence of active distractions. Tired enough for Harry to say, “Do you want to go to bed?” and for Draco to reply, “Do you want to borrow my pajamas this time?”

            Harry did, and they got ready for bed, brushing their teeth next to each other and climbing under the covers and sharing a minty kiss before Draco asked him again.

            “Are you okay?”

            “I’m with you. Of course I am.” And again Harry found that he was. Because the warmth of Draco’s body pressed against his was soothing the anxiety in the back of his mind until he was tired enough to sleep.

            Harry woke up screaming a few hours later. “Sorry,” Harry said once he’d realized what was happening. Once Draco’s “shh, it’s alright, you’re safe” repeated over and over again as he held him had registered and sunk in and worked.

            “It’s alright,” Draco said again, softer.

            Harry let out a frustrated sigh, or as much of one as he could manage while he was still fighting to make his breathing even. “I didn’t want to come here and do this.”

            “There’s silencing charms around my room.”

            “Mine, too. I don’t want to wake Kreacher.”

            “I put extra ones around my bed sometimes. If I know it’s going to be bad.” Draco’s words were swallowed by the darkness, his arms around Harry the only thing anchoring him to the reality of awakeness.

            Harry wanted to let Draco know that he was doing that. How much Draco was doing for him. “For so long I didn’t have anything. I didn’t have anything until-”

            “I know.” Draco sounded like he would have said the same thing if they hadn’t already, not with words, but every time one of them woke up. Every one.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry said again.

            He got the feeling Draco would have pulled him closer if he wasn’t already clinging to Harry like both their lives depended on it. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

            “I’m still sorry.”

            “You shouldn’t have to apologize.”

            “I am, anyway.”

            Draco’s voice was unbearably soft. It was unbearable because it ached. “I’d forgive you even if you didn’t.”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you.” Then, when Harry’s breathing was really even again, Draco asked, “Do you need to go?”

            “I’m not leaving you.”

            “You wouldn’t be leaving me. And I could come with.”

            “We’re staying here. As long as you’re okay.”

            “I’m fine if you’re fine.”

            “Then we’re staying.”

            Harry had nightmares three more times that week. Every time he woke up, screaming or not screaming, in Draco’s arms. Draco had one nightmare, on a different night, and Harry kept stroking his hair and telling him he loved him until long after Draco had fallen back asleep.

            It was nothing compared to before.


	24. Enough

            It was so much better than he’d known it could be. Because Draco knew Harry wouldn’t lie to him about staying. A little, to spare his feelings, maybe. Not like that. Not to the extent that’d be necessary to hide something like that.

            It was the mark again. Almost the same as last time. But Harry was doing this, and Draco had to let him. Draco hadn’t meant for it to be that way when he’d offered. Hadn’t meant the offer to be that a second time, asking Harry to get used to a part of him that hurt them both but had to be worse, so much worse, for Harry. Because Harry hadn’t lived with it that same way, hadn’t lived in the Manor the whole time. Or because Harry hadn’t been wrong. Both, maybe.

            Draco didn’t do it on purpose, but he wasn’t going to tell Harry they should go back to Grimmauld Place, either. Because Harry knew what he could handle and what he couldn’t and part of the reason they’d even made it to a place where they could say ‘I love you’ and mean it was- or, fuck, _most_ of the reason- was that they trusted each other. So, yes, it was awful when Harry woke up more times than usual, but, no, Draco wasn’t about to let that get in the way of whatever Harry felt he needed to do. Whatever he wanted to do to feel more _with_ Draco than he already was.

            “As if that were possible,” muttered Draco under his breath.

            “What?” Harry asked brightly.

            It was Saturday and they’d just got back from the Manor and Draco didn’t even consider lying to him. “You love me and I love you so I didn’t insist we go back to Grimmauld Place. Because we trust each other.”

            Harry smiled. “You did ask quite a few times, though.”

            “There’s a difference between being worried you’re not okay and not trusting you to know when you’re not.”

            Harry stared in amazement.

            Draco hadn’t expected that. But maybe he should have. Maybe he should have expected it, like the way he’d expected Harry would want to ease into it an inch at a time so they could both be sure, every step of the way, that the other one was okay. Or the way he still expected Harry to spring things on him every once in a while because he didn’t think Harry could make it too many months without making some surprising gesture.

            Their relationship gave Draco a chance to be selfless. And it gave Harry a chance to be selfish. But of course Harry was still amazed that Draco trusted him so so much because when else had Harry been trusted as a person and not… whatever else people thought he was?

            Harry was shaking his head and hugging Draco in the same moment, before Draco could register what was happening. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear anyone say that.”

            Draco pulled back and took Harry’s face in his hands. He meant to say something, but he didn’t have any words.

            “Yeah,” Harry said simply. He sniffled; his eyes were shining. “Fuck. Sorry.”

            Draco pulled him close again. “You can cry in front of me.”

            “I know.”

            “And probably a lot of other people, though they might be a bit surprised by the departure from the cool calm façade.”

            “I know. I just… fuck,” Harry repeated, hand coming up to the back of Draco’s neck.

            Draco pressed his fingers tighter into Harry’s back. “I know.”

            They stood like that for a few minutes before Harry moved, gradually, all intent. Draco moved with him, feeling rather than seeing it, knowing what kind of kiss it would be before their lips met.

            It was the kind of kiss where they were saying ‘I love you’ and ‘I know’ over and over again until they lost track of where it started. Until it didn’t matter if Harry had moved first or Draco had, because their mouths were moving in such synchronicity that it would have felt wrong to break it.

            They did at the same moment, to breathe.

            “This timing’s shit, don’t you think?” asked Draco. He didn’t think it was shit at all. He thought there was nothing he’d rather be doing but that he didn’t want that to be tainted somehow by the fact they’d only been back a few minutes and Harry might have needed time to recover because he’d had four nightmares.

            Harry’s lips were on his neck. Draco felt the words, “You think so?”

            “Not- I mean I-” Draco was losing the thread of the conversation. Harry seemed to notice this and moved far enough for Draco to clear his head. A little, at least. Enough to say, “We just got back. And if you’re not ready-”

            “Are you?”

            Draco frowned. “That wasn’t what I- I didn’t think that-” Fuck, he was losing it again. Harry was so close. It didn’t help, the way those green eyes bored into Draco like there was nothing else to look at, nothing else remotely important enough to look at. When he finally spoke, Draco was breathless, still. “I didn’t expect it, is all.”

            “Alright.” Something softened in Harry’s expression.

            Draco didn’t want- no, Draco _wanted_ , that was the point. “Are you ready?”

            Harry’s expression changed again. Some of the intent slipped back into it. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just thought- it felt like the right time.”

            “So did I.”

            “Is it still?”

            Draco took deeper breaths than he had been before. He hadn’t planned for this. But he wanted it. “I think so.”

            Harry was kissing him again, more urgent at first, then slowing. The kind of kisses that said he wanted to take his time.

            Good.

            They were moving back (or back for Draco), towards Harry’s room. When they stopped to breathe again Harry said, “Is this the dam breaking?” in a voice so much lighter than before, a voice that was all light.

            Draco took the opportunity to kiss his way down Harry’s neck, delighting in the feel of goosebumps under his lips when he flicked his tongue beneath the collar of Harry’s shirt. “It’s been breaking for months, Potter. This is just the last bit to go.” Draco smiled at how even his voice sounded. Not like he was losing it at all.

            At least not as breathless as Harry. “I thought that was the unofficial proposal bit?” Harry’s right hand was tangled in Draco’s hair, the left holding him as close as was possible while Draco sucked hard enough to bruise.

            “Well,” Draco said as leaned forward, chin on Harry’s shoulder, and slid his hands up under the back of Harry’s shirt. Harry moaned low in his throat. Draco ran his hands across Harry’s skin, painstakingly slow, as he continued, “yes. But that doesn’t fit into the ideal romance narrative. According to said narrative, only after we have mind-blowing penetrative sex will we be truly connected.”

            Harry seemed to regain control of his faculties, then, because Draco was the one desperately sucking in air as Harry’s mouth skimmed the edge of Draco’s jaw. His lips stopped millimeters from Draco’s ear, breath hot and voice steady as he said, “Do you know the spells?”

            “Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

            Harry laughed and pressed a single kiss to the side of Draco’s neck. “Were you offering?”

            Draco’s whole body sang with anticipation. “Yes.” He took a breath. “Which way?”

            “I think I want you to fuck me first.”

            Draco’s mind went white. “First?”

            “That is- if you want-” no Harry wasn’t supposed to sound worried.

            “Yes. Anything.” Draco met Harry’s eyes. “Anything.”

 

            “Why did we sleep in your room, anyway? Mine’s better.”

            Harry rolled to face him, one arm raised to prop himself up. “You aren’t serious.”

            “It’s true. My room’s bigger and I think my bed is, too.”

            “You’re having me on.”

            “I’m not, actually. Why do you think I usually insist we go in there instead?”

            Harry stared at him. Draco held his serious expression firmly in place.

            Finally Harry turned to the ceiling and said, “Didn’t realize you were still such a prat.”

            “Ha!”

            Harry flipped around immediately to stare openmouthed at Draco.

            Draco fought the urge to laugh. “D’you really think I’d care if my bed was bigger?”

            Understanding alighted in Harry’s eyes. “You’ve been waiting to do this. Ever since that first Charms lesson. You’ve just been biding your time, waiting for the right opportunity.”

            Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage.

            “You didn’t think- I mean, your ultimate goal at that point wasn’t making it into bed with me, was it?” Harry sounded amused.

            Two could play at that game. “Could you be asking because _you_ wanted to get into _my_ bed even then?”

            Then Harry sounded flustered. “No- maybe- _friends_. I wanted to be friends. And you still haven’t answered the question.” Until he got challenging at the end, at least.

            Draco stared him dead in the face. “Yes I did want to have sex with you even then. I’ve thought you were one of the most stunning people in our year for a ridiculously long time. And you didn’t answer, either.”

            Harry turned pink, eyes dancing between Draco’s eyes and his lips as he said, “Of course I wanted you. I mean, you know me, Gryffindor romantic and all that. But have you looked in a mirror after coming in from playing Quidditch? You’re practically glowing.”

            “That’s you.”

            Harry looked exasperated for a split second, then determined; no he was not going to start tickling Draco-

            “Potter! We’re- missing- breakfast!”

            “You didn’t seem to mind when I said we’d miss breakfast two hours ago,” Harry countered, hands relentless.

            “That’s because- I didn’t think- you’d- be doing- _this_!”

            “Didn’t you?”

            “Oh- alright- you’re right now just-”

            Harry’s hands disappeared immediately.

            Draco glared at him.

            Harry looked infuriatingly innocent. “You didn’t have to say I was right. Would’ve stopped if you asked.”

            “I thought my writhing in agony was a pretty clear signal.”

            “I don’t have to tickle you anymore.” Harry sounded like he meant it.

            Draco felt himself going red even before he replied, “I didn’t say that.”

            “You like the touching.” Harry wasn’t teasing him at all. He was telling Draco something he’d noticed about him because they were around each other so much.

            Draco squirmed closer to Harry in confirmation. “I like the laughing, too. It feels good to laugh like that.”

            “It does.”

            “Are you ticklish?”

            “Not really. One too many injuries,” Harry said, humming a little as Draco moved his hands along Harry’s torso. Then Draco’s fingers brushed the back of Harry’s knee and Harry _squeaked_.

            “Sorry, did-” Draco glanced up to check Harry’s reaction but cut off in a smile when he found Harry grinning.

            “No, I just- hey, wait a minute, you-” Harry glared down in accusation.

Draco was laughing too hard not to incriminate himself. a“Looks like… you’re… not as not-ticklish as you thought,” choked Draco between laughs.

            “Are all decent boyfriends this much of a pain in the arse?”

            Draco caught his breath for just long enough to deadpan, “Depends on what you mean by ‘pain in the arse,’” then fell into redoubled fits of laughter.

            “Why am I still cuddling you?”

            “I don’t know,” Draco said, suddenly serious. “Could be the ‘decent boyfriend’ thing, though last time I checked we were definitely engaged.”

            “Oh, definitely,” Harry said, all sarcasm. Then, gravely, “Are we ever going to stop annoying the shit out of each other?”

            Draco tipped his head back to make eye contact with Harry. “Probably not.”

            “I guess I’m lucky you love me, then.”

            “More like the other-”

            “Draco.”

            The words came out before Draco could decide if he wanted to say them. “How do you do it?”

            Harry was cautious. “Do what?”

            “Be great all the time.”

            Harry snorted. “I don’t.”

            “No, really.” Draco leaned back, keeping his arms around Harry but meeting his eyes again. “You don’t owe anybody anything and you give them things anyway. Or did, and you keep being nice to them even though they expect you to give everything up all over again. And you’re figuring things out for yourself while all of that’s going on in the background and you don’t seem nervous at all.”

            “I’m nervous.”

            “I know. But you’re not-”

            “A mess?”

            “Me,” Draco replied by way of agreement.

            “You’re not a mess. You’re top three in the class.”

            “And I don’t need my NEWTs, but I’m still a wreck about them.”

            “Everyone’s a wreck about NEWTs, even me. And…” Harry reached down to touch Draco’s necklace. “Do you remember why I gave you this?”

            “To remind me I love flying?”

            “To remind you you’re good at things.”

            Draco stared at Harry for long moments and all he saw was certainty. Finally Draco had to glance away. “I think I was hoping if I did well on my NEWTs that’d be all the reminder I needed.”

            “You’re going to do brilliantly on your NEWTs.”

            Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck. “Mmm.”

            “You’re going to do brilliantly because you’re intelligent, and you’ll be great in whatever you do after your NEWTs because you’re wonderful and strong and no matter what it is people will recognize your talent and want to be involved.”

            “What if I don’t want to be around people?” Draco knew he was being difficult. But he was also being honest, whiny as that sounded in his head, and whatever Harry said in response Draco was going to learn something from it.

            “You like being around people. You’re the most outgoing reserved person I’ve ever met.”

            “That’s a bit of an oxymoron, you know?” Draco also knew that Harry was right, knew exactly what he meant and was still amazed Harry saw that much.

            “It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

            Draco sighed against Harry’s chest. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

            “Sounds like you haven’t met many people.”

            “You are, though. You pay attention to things even when people don’t realize it. You pay attention to me, notice all the things my behavior reveals about me because you take the time to care. You do it with other people, too. Just to make sure they’re not uncomfortable. You go out of your way to make things easier for them.” Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper at the last words, “Sometimes I forget people can do that.”

            “I’m reminding you of all sorts of things today.”

            Draco smiled, trailing his fingers against Harry’s skin. “You’re good at it. It’s part of what’s amazing about you.”

            “Being a decent person isn’t amazing.”

            “It is, though. It’s hard. Not all of us can care- or afford to care, but that’s-” Draco shook his head. “You went through all of that and worse and you’re still a good person.”

            “Caring too much has gotten people I love killed.” Harry’s breath was controlled, heart rate picking up a little beneath his skin even though he was fighting for calm.

            Draco kept his tone even. “If you don’t care at all, you end up with no one to love.”

            “No one to hurt.”

            “No one who loves you would think that way. I don’t think that way.”

            “Loving me doesn’t put you in as much danger as it did them. And it still puts you in danger.”

            “Maybe that makes me a coward, then. For not loving you sooner.”

            “You were trying to protect people you love. And we didn’t- it’s different, Draco, it’s always been different.”

            “Then why are you still blaming yourself?”

            “Why are you?”

            ‘Anything’ Draco had said. “It’s the easiest retribution I have right now. If I found a better way maybe I’d…” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

            “Feel like you could make up for it?” Harry’s tone was wistful; he knew it wouldn’t work, because it wouldn’t have worked for him any better than it had for Draco.

            “Does it sound as pointless in your head as it does in mine?”

            “Maybe. But I know why you want to. To try, I mean. Try to be… good, or better, to try to make up for it. And I’m not going to stop you from trying, it’s just- you don’t deserve to suffer because of what you did. You’ve been through enough. You’re trying. That’s enough.”

            “It’s enough for you, too.” More, Draco could have said, a hundred million times more than enough.

            They lay there in a stalemate, Draco stroking Harry’s chest and wondering how right or easy it would be to believe trying was enough, Harry’s breaths smoothing out to something less controlled and more relaxed. Every once in a while he would tip his head to kiss the top of Draco’s.

            That was enough even if trying wasn’t, Draco decided.

 

            “You never answered me.”

            “When?” They were sitting in Charms and Flitwick had gone out to get something he’d forgotten in his office; it was a surprise too fragile to summon, even for an expert. Draco had taken advantage of the lull, and Harry was looking at him with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

            “School. Everything. How you do it without completely losing your mind.”

            “Oh. That.” Harry barked a laugh, and for a moment he looked like he was going to shoot back a sarcastic remark. Instead his expression switched to rueful honesty with a hint of that challenge that was always bright and waiting when they were in the same room as each other (so, most of the time). “I guess after seven years of not knowing exactly what I have to do or how to do it, but having to do it anyway- after that, NEWTs are a sort of liberatingly straightforward responsibility.”

            Draco hummed and turned back to his notes. “You’re speaking in riddles again.”

“No,” and then Harry’s voice was all challenge, all challenge and belief, “I’m trying to remind you that after everything we’ve been through you’ve made it here, and that counts for more than you think it does.”

            Draco looked at him. He couldn’t not look at Harry, when his voice sounded like that. “Yes.”

            Harry furrowed his brow. “What?”

            “Yes to whatever next you’re going to ask me. Yes I’ll stay at yours half the summer and yes I think a puppy is a great idea. Yes you can paint the walls purple, or orange, or whatever color you want. Yes we can skip the 2013 Ministry New Year Gala and yes I will watch that terrible film with you. Yes to probably everything you’re going to ask me ever, with conditions. Like six kids. Six is too many. I’m not having six kids.”

            Harry smiled at Draco like he was everything. “We’re never going to stop being like this, are we?”

            “Probably not,” Draco said, meaning it as much as he had the first time. He smiled back the same way.

            Flitwick was back with the breakable thing, so they returned to the Charms lesson.


	25. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your advance warning that things are about to get heavy. But I am a fanfic writer who wants good things for these boys so please know that everything's gonna be okay.

            For the first time in too long, Harry was cautiously optimistic.

            Too many expectations had been forcing Harry to weigh his choices against them for longer than he could easily remember. At most it went all the way back to the night his parents died, that night when so many things were set in motion. At least it started three years ago, when he’d first started learning the shape of the war he was already so involved in. For years Harry’s life had been either ‘win’ or ‘survive,’ depending on who was advising him at any given moment.

            Things were different now.

            He could save the house elves or fail Transfiguration or make love to Draco Malfoy in the Quidditch locker rooms and none of it mattered so long as Harry wanted to do it.

            Well, he didn’t want to fail Transfiguration and the house elves might not be his top priority, but Draco was pretty fantastic. They’d just touched down when the rain got too bad to fly, and- “Draco?”

            “We can wait in here until the rain lets up,” he glanced back at Harry, who’d followed him inside, and frowned. “Oh. Was there something-”

            Harry kissed him.

            “Oh,” Draco said again at the same time Harry leaned back and muttered, “Sorry, I-”

            Draco smiled. “Much though I may have thought about it, I didn’t know you were willing to break this particular school rule.”

            “Crime of opportunity?” Harry gestured to the rain.

            “Oh,” Draco said a third time, smile widening, and fuck Harry loved that smile, “I wasn’t _protesting_ -”

            Cautious optimism might be a bit of an understatement, Harry decided as he pulled on his magically-cleaned-and-dried jeans twenty minutes later. “Still terrified but enjoying it much more than I really should be,” Harry said aloud.

            Draco smiled into a kiss. “That’s the spirit, love.”

            They traipsed through the mud back up to the castle hand in hand.

 

            Of course, Harry really didn’t expect to be facing suspicion for that crime of opportunity when Hermione accosted the two of them on the fourth floor the next day. “Were you in the locker rooms last-”

            “No,” they said in unison. Draco kicked Harry a little for good measure.

            “Oh. Ginny said she- well, it was probably just the rain or something, doesn’t matter,” Hermione said much too easily, and Harry knew that she knew and was just letting them off the hook for it. Not that he expected to be on the hook with Hermione about much anymore, but she wasn’t exactly preaching free love all over the castle. Actually, she was probably so good at charms that- well, he’d rather not think about that at the moment. Or ever. Harry refocused on Hermione in time to catch, “Anyway, McGonagall’s looking for you.”

            “Both of us?” asked Draco, squeezing Harry’s hand.

            “She said you didn’t have to come together, but seeing as how you’ve been nearly inseparable for the better part of the term-”

            “Right,” Draco said. “Her office?”

            “She seemed to be headed that way. I would hurry, though, she’s got the fifth years in less than an hour.”

            “Thanks,” Harry said hastily.

            Draco was already pulling him around towards the stairs. “Thank you.”

            “No problem! See you both in Charms.”

            Harry shot a sideways glance at the boy who was half-dragging him up the stairs. “Any particular reason you look worried?”

            Draco refused to answer.

            “Oh,” Harry said, and came up short, realizing.

            Draco stopped next to him and said too quickly, “It’s not going to be about-”

            “What else would it be?”

            “It could be anything, Harry.” Draco was stroking soothing circles on the back of his hand.

            Harry smiled ruefully. “Don’t know that.”

            “Please.”

            Harry knew he’d regret going if he was right. Even though Harry knew he was. Even though the second the bottom had dropped out of his stomach he’d been certain. “Okay.”

            McGonagall wanted to warn them about the memorial service next month. “You can take as much time as you need to decide. But I feel I must inform you that things will go more smoothly the earlier you make your intentions known, regardless of what you decide to do.” She glanced between them, addressing them both, concern pronounced enough in her features that Harry felt a pang of guilt quite apart from the one he was getting from Draco squeezing his hand.

            Because it’d be nothing for Harry compared to what it’d be for Draco.

            “Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall.” Draco was keeping better track of the conversation; he stood, and Harry did without protest. Draco must’ve known he couldn’t-

            “Of course. If there’s anything I can do to make the decision easier for either of you, please let me know as soon as possible.”

            Easier how? Harry wouldn’t want anyone to know he was there if he decided to go under the cloak, and he doubted he’d be able to avoid giving a speech if he made in appearance. He blinked, said “Thank you,” and let himself be pulled out of the office.

            Draco was asking if he was alright.

            “M’fine.” The staircase was making him dizzy, that was all.

            Draco said something about going back to their rooms.

            “We’ve got potions, haven’t we?”

            “You’ve only been absent once. I’m sure Professor Honeycutt will understand.”

            The idea of having to sit through a class sounded unpleasant, so Harry followed Draco all the way back to their rooms and onto the sofa.

            Draco was asking if he was alright again.

            Harry forced himself to think. “Yes. No. I mean of course not, but you know that. I didn’t- didn’t expect-” he didn’t know what else to say so he stopped talking.

            Draco sighed softly next to him. They were only touching at Harry’s hand, he knew, and it felt like Draco was doing the circles again, but Harry couldn’t process much more than Draco’s voice while his head was throbbing. “Didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Should I light a fire?”

            Harry was freezing. He was always freezing. “Can you?”

            “Of course.”

            Harry watched as Draco got off the sofa, bent down, held his wand over the new wood and cast a silent ignition spell. When Draco hesitated, Harry nodded, so Draco went back to his seat from before. Harry grabbed his hand.

            “Do you want to just sit for a while?” asked Draco.

            “Yeah.”

            They did.

            After some time had passed Harry said, “Are you okay?”

            “More than you, probably.”

            “That’s not much to go on.”

            Draco’s voice was quiet. “Good things happened for me that day.”

            “You thought your whole family was going to prison.”

            “Maybe. But at least we were free.”

            “For a few hours.”

            “You spoke at my trial. At my mum’s trial.”

            “She saved me. You saved me.”

            Draco was looking at him. “You saved my life that day.”

            Harry looked back. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too.”

            Draco sat with him until his brain started working again.

 

            Harry gave himself a day of not worrying. Then he started trying to decide which would be better- going or not going.

            Neither option was easy. Not going threw his Boy Who Lived responsibilities back in the faces of all the people who’d helped him, trusted him, followed him. Some of them to their deaths. It’d be disrespectful and, yeah, get him a lot of bad publicity, but mostly it would make him feel like shit.

            And not going was still easier than going.

            Because if he went, Harry was going to have to be a hero. A focal point. A detraction from all the other things people should be watching that day, things people should be remembering. They didn’t need to see their tried and true beacon of hope parading up and down the aisle to remind them of their triumph. That’s not what the day was about. He’d be avoiding disappointing the people there to take attention away from the people who weren’t. Which was bad in its own way.

            It would’ve helped if Harry felt more strongly one way or another. But he didn’t. Because both choices were terrible and neither one would be easy, even if guilt was a small price to pay for not having thousands of people staring and appraising and _expecting_ when all he wanted to do was curl up under the covers until the misery of the day was over.

When Draco saw Harry zone out sometimes he’d try to reassure him. “You’ve got-”

            “Twelve days,” Harry finished.

            “Right,” Draco said softly.

            “You’ve got twelve days, too.” Harry had told Draco they could talk if they wanted- the same thing Draco’d told Harry- but Draco didn’t ever want to.

            He frowned. “I suppose so.”

            Harry took a frustrated breath and tried again. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to-”

            “I don’t.” Blunt. Unexpected, for Harry, given Draco was usually so- well- he wasn’t ‘usually so’ anything when it came to this. They hadn’t discussed it yet.

            Maybe they should.

            Draco’s voice drew him back, quiet again. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to, either.”

            Harry laughed harshly. “Right. The Chosen One doesn’t need to show up.”

            “You don’t.” Draco’s gaze was steady. Certain.

            “You really think I…” He didn’t. Harry didn’t have to go. There wouldn’t have been a decision to make if he were obligated. Which he wasn’t.

            Really it was about whether or not he felt ready to relive all that, after. After the nightmares had started to fade. After he could look at the mark on Draco’s arm and not pull away. After things had gone back to… not normal, but whatever passed for normal at Hogwarts.

            But Harry still didn’t know, so he asked, “Do you know what you want to do, yet?”

            Draco shook his head.

            “Let me know when you decide?”

            A nod.

            They went back to studying.

            Until a few seconds later when Draco smiled and said, “I’ve figured out something else.”

            Harry closed his book and looked up, hopeful. “You’re going to tell me?”

            Draco nodded. “I want to teach flying.”

            “Here?”

            “No, I… I think there’s a lack of flying instruction outside Hogwarts, and there shouldn’t be. Who learns, people who make it on house teams or have parents with brooms? And then there’s not really an opportunity to play outside house teams unless you organize it yourself, which I suppose a flying school would be quite good for… Harry?”

            “You’re brilliant.”

            “Okay,” Draco said, biting his lip in a smile and glancing down at his book.

            “I mean it. You’re brilliant and I love you.”

            Draco’s gaze was soft. “You say that all the time.”

            “Think it bears repeating.”

            “Are you okay?”

            Harry nodded.

            Draco intertwined their fingers and held his gaze. “I love you, too.”

 

            “How are you doing?”

            “I’m alright.” He’d been on the same page for ten minutes, but Harry was fine.

            “You want to talk?”

            “No.”

            “Harry-” Hermione began, voice too compassionate.

            “No. It’s alright. I’m- I haven’t made my mind up yet.” That was true.

            “Ron thought about not going.” When Harry didn’t answer, she continued, “He said he couldn’t not go, not- not with Fred and- well-” Hermione winced. She didn’t like reminding Harry of things, not when he was like this. Usually he was okay but sometimes he just- and Hermione tried so hard. “Ron said he wanted to be there, but he’d understand why people might not want to. I thought about not going, but when I thought about my parents, I… I think I have to go.”

            Everyone had their own reason, Harry knew. In the end they all just wanted to remember.

            But it would be so hard, remembering. Important but it would hurt. The ripping George would feel, again, as he stood by his family that would never be whole again. The ache of all the space that should have been full, all the parents and children and friends lost. The longing for people who would never come home.

            The torture Draco may or may not have to live through as he sat surrounded by people who actively hated him.

            “I can think of a few reasons,” Harry finally said.

            “You can sit with us. You or- you and Draco, if he decides to go.”

            “I’m sure that’d impress the masses.”

            “Any of his friends. I’ll tell them myself next I see them, but I need you to know that, Harry. They’re in his life and he’s in yours and if you think for a second we’re going to let bad publicity stop us from supporting you-” she cut off when Harry smiled.

            “I’ll make sure he knows.”

            Hermione nodded.

            “Thank you, Hermione.”

            “Don’t need to thank me for being a decent person.”

            “It’s harder than you’d think.”

            “You would know.” Hermione smiled and placed a hand over his. “Just promise me you’ll do whatever feels right for you?”

            “I’ll do my best.”

 

            It had been a while since he’d gone to the Owelry, so a week before he went to the Owelry.

            “Hey, Hedwig. I’m sure you’re busy, it’s nearly time for Astronomy, I just… wanted to see you, I guess.

            “How have you been? Probably good? I hope good? Up in the sky forever with half of everyone else who’s loved me. They were all so good.” Harry was crying, but he had to keep talking. “Draco tells me I’m good. Hermione just did, yesterday. I think I need to talk about the war but I’ve talked about it so much I think I want to stop. Not, not recently and not- I can’t, you know? Stop? It’s too important. That’s the problem. It’s so important there’ll never be enough talking about it, so we just… keep…”

            He took a shaky breath. “I’m trying to get there. Like… past it. A year is such a long time. But it’s here. It’s everywhere. It’s in me. Other things are… were… in me and I don’t always know how to… ugh. I’m crying, Hedwig. I don’t like it. You always remind me to be strong. I can’t remind him if you don’t remind me. That’s it. It’s all of you. You’ve all said I’m worth so much you would die for me and you did. I finally found someone else to think like that about. I love Ron and Hermione and I love all of you and… God, I love him. I don’t know what really else I have at the moment. I’m supposed to be doing something with my future. I told you about it, ages ago, but I… I don’t know anymore. It feels like it changes every day. I suppose it does. Now I don’t really care what happens as long as I can stay with Draco. I want to help people, still, I feel like I can keep helping them because I have so much. I’m tired but I have so much left that I can… I’m alive. I’m alive so I can make things better with that.

            “It’s hard, though. I don’t know how selfish I can be. I was never allowed to before. And I have this whole person, this whole new person who loves me different from the ways you all did but still- so much. It’s so much. He would give me anything. I would do it for him but that’s different. Up until a year ago I gave everything to everyone because they were… but he’d… he’d give me anything. It’s the best feeling in the world. And the scariest.

            “And I want to hurt him, a week from now. I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt him. But I want him there if I go, and I can’t ask him to do that for me. He’d give me anything. I can’t ask him to give me this. It’s too much. He’s already given me so much. I almost killed him and he forgave me. I didn’t think I’d live to feel this.” But he was here, wasn’t he? Harry was still here. After everything he had lived. And that was something.

            “So many people died. I died. He almost died, everyone I love left in the world almost died. Some of them did. You died.

            “I’m sorry.” Yes, Harry thought. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. Thank you for everything you did.”

            The words hung in the air in front of him. They felt like too little- but just enough. Never enough but just enough.

            “Right. I should be going, I don’t want to be late.” Harry was probably already late, and definitely would be after he found a bathroom and spelled his eyes less obviously red, but, well-

            When he opened the door Draco was at the other end of the hallway.

            “You’re here,” Harry said, dumbfounded.

            He was frowning. “I didn’t want to come in. I knew you’d be here but I didn’t want to-”

            “That’s alright.” Harry wanted to go to him but for a second he couldn’t move. He could just look at this person who kept giving him everything over and over again and who Harry in a million years had never thought he’d deserved, dying for the war be damned.

            “Are you-?”

            Harry went to him. “Of course. I’m with you.”

 

            Everyone had talked to Harry by three days before. Luna had, and Ginny, and Ron, and Draco a thousand times. Pansy and Serena had offered their input.

            The one who helped him make up his mind was Hagrid.

            “It’s the right thing to do, Hagrid.”

            “Might be. But if yeh didn’t go, would yeh regret it?”


	26. May 2nd

            Draco felt like it was right to go.

            He didn’t want to feel his skin crawl as people looked at him. Didn’t want to feel like he was being tracked through the crowd, whispered about, or worse, that Harry would be just for being near him.

            Because they couldn’t not be near each other if they went. It would ache. Worse than everything else. Because he didn’t want to be far from Harry when he knew Harry was having a hard time and Harry probably wouldn’t want to be too far from Draco, either, because Harry wasn’t too physically affectionate but lately he’d protested when they couldn’t be in the same room.

            Draco asked if he was alright over and over again even though he knew the answer would be ‘no.’

            “I’m fine. I’m with you.”

            Draco held back a pained smile; he didn’t want Harry to see it. “I want you to be alright alone.”

            Harry took a gasping breath. “But I don’t-”

            “No, no, of course not. I just mean I don’t want you to have a hard time-”

            “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Harry wouldn’t look at him.

            “It’s okay to need people.”

            “I’ve got too clingy.”

            “No, you-”

            “Dependent. I’m not supposed to be dependent.”

            Draco placed a gentle hand on Harry’s neck. “You’re not. Everybody needs help so-”

            “I know. But what about what you need?” Harry gave him a pleading look.

            Draco steeled himself. “I’m fine.”

            “No, you’re not. I can see you’re not. I know I’m not fine, everybody knows I’m not fucking- you, though. Who’s worried about you?”

            “Plenty of people. And you don’t need to. I’m fine.”

            “Going to worry, anyway, though.”

            “I know.”

            Harry reached up to stroke Draco’s hair. “Do you need to talk?”

            “I’ve already talked.”

            “But you haven’t decided. Not that you should feel pressured to-”

            “I don’t,” Draco said softly.

            “I’ll stay with you. Whatever you-”

            “No. You’ll do what you want. Promise?” Draco held his gaze.

            “Yeah,” Harry said, halfhearted, and looked away.

            “Do you want to go for a walk?”

            Harry frowned. “I thought you wanted to study.”

            “Fuck studying.”

            They went for a walk.

            When they got back Draco took a few minutes to sit in his room and think.

            It wasn’t really his room, anymore, he realized as he glanced around. Half of Harry’s things were there, the bed made sloppy by hand the way Harry liked to in the morning instead of crisp and neat the way Draco’d used to do it with magic. The desk was definitely still his, books stacked in piles instead of strewn everywhere like Harry’s. They were different that way, but Draco didn’t mind. He liked it. Was used to it, comfortable with it even though it sent a jolt through him to think that this place Draco had once thought of as a haven just for him didn’t belong only to him now.

            He could have asked Harry to move some of the things out, but he didn’t want to. Draco didn’t cling to Harry as much as he used to, no longer remotely starved for affection because Harry had been practically hanging off him for days. He’d almost looked panicked when Draco said he was going to his room, until Draco said, “just for a minute” with the soft smile he knew calmed Harry down.

            Just a minute. Draco just needed a minute. He loved Harry so much he sometimes couldn’t believe that much love could fit inside one person, and Harry needed him, he knew Harry needed him. Just… it was harder to think, around him. When Draco was in the same room mostly he just thought he’d do whatever Harry would do, and he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t do it just because of that even if he wanted to. He had to decide and then tell Harry and then if things got bad he could throw it out the window and do whatever Harry did anyway because if things did get bad being together was more important than making the right impression.

            Harry couldn’t be why he decided, though. Draco had to do what he felt was right.

            In that case he’d be going.

            Surprisingly easy. He didn’t even have to consider it. Draco had to go because of Vince and Professor Snape and the cousins he’d never met and- he had to go.

            Draco knew he was imagining it when the decision snapped him to wanting Harry again. He was fine. Draco was fine. Emotionally, he was okay. Needing proximity when he knew Harry was a few feet away on the other side of the door was…

            Fuck he’d closed the door.

            “I’m sorry,” Draco said as he stepped out.

            “For what?”

            “I closed the door.”

            “Oh,” Harry smiled quickly to make sure Draco knew he hadn’t been worried about it. “I thought you might be writing a letter or something. And it isn’t like we can’t close the doors, we just… don’t.” Harry frowned.

            Draco wanted to apologize again. “All the doors were closed growing up. When Theo was over we weren’t allowed to go in any of the nice rooms.”

            For a second he was terrified Harry was going to react badly. Then Harry said, “Like when Aunt Petunia was setting up for a dinner party,” and smiled.

            Draco could remember plenty of dinner parties. “Probably. But I like it this way.”

            “I do, too.”

            “I don’t want to close the doors. When I have children they’re going to help pick out the food and I’ll let them stay until they fall asleep or the adults start getting properly drunk.”

            “I very much like that idea.”

            Draco turned red when he realized what the dreamy smile on Harry’s face meant. “Oh.”

            “Not six, though. Six is too many.”

            Draco made a sound of distress and got, if possible, even redder.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry said.

            “You love to tease me,” Draco said, looking away and still red but smiling, smiling.

            “Old habits.”

            “A poor excuse.” But when Harry came up to him Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and leaned down and inhaled. Harry’s smell was so familiar it was like collapsing into bed after a very long day and breathing in the smell of the blankets. So familiar if Draco did just that he’d smell Harry, because they were Harry’s blankets, too.

            “You’re still hugging me,” Harry pointed out.

            “I don’t see your point.”

            Harry laughed.

 

            Harry’d been catatonic little spooning on the sofa for an hour, then pacing for twenty minutes. Then he went and sat in the corner by the fire, tucked up next to it so his whole right side was pressed against the warm brick. Harry went near the fire when he got cold, but never like that.

            Draco said the only thing he could that’d allow Harry to hear him. “It’s not your fault.”

            “I know. That doesn’t make it feel like it isn’t, though.”

            Draco smiled. It felt uneven and sad and hopeful at the same time. “I know.” He’d told Harry he was going and Harry had told him of course he was. In a minute. They were leaving in a minute.

            Harry looked away. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be here and I don’t expect you to-”

            “I’m not. Just going to comfort you or ignoring my grief or- none of that. I need to go. And I don’t want to be alone, either.”

            Harry looked up and half-smiled.

            Draco sat down on the floor next to him, a few inches away. “You know one day we’ll forgive ourselves.”

            “It’s going to take a long time.”

            “I’ll be here.”

            Harry took his hand. “I have to go.”

            “No you don’t.”

            “I have to go.”

            “No,” and this time Draco’s voice had enough strength in it to draw Harry’s eyes up, “you don’t.”  
            For a second Harry looked at him, eyes a little wide and mostly disbelieving. Then he said, “I don’t want to go if I can’t hold your hand.”

            “You can.”

            “No, I can’t.”

            “You can.”

            Harry looked away. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

            “It’d be worse for you, if you did, wouldn’t it? Accusations of disrespecting the dead and all that?”

            Smiling ruefully, eyes back on Draco again, “Is this your way of trying to convince me?”

            “You’re more likely to do it if you think it’ll be worse for you than it is for me.”

            Harry’s expression faltered. “You want to hold my hand that badly?”

            Draco didn’t want that to be what convinced him, so he said, “I think you do.”

            “I have to go,” Harry said again.

            “I’ll go with you.”

            “Yeah?”

            Draco stood, pulling Harry’s hand up with him. “I don’t think McGonagall would let anyone say anything about this, do you?” He squeezed Harry’s fingers a little.

            After staring at Draco for a long moment, Harry shook his head and stood. “We have to leave. It’ll be starting.”

 

            Nobody said anything. They wouldn’t dare.

            Because House Unity meant more than mixing tables. More than Gryffindors lighting candles with Slytherins.

            More than the Chosen One holding a former Death Eater’s hand.

            Neither of them was that, anymore.

 

            Draco woke up first that night because Harry wasn’t sleeping yet.

            “You alright?” Harry asked quietly.

            “Yeah, I’m… you’re awake. Did I wake you?”

            “No. You’re shaking.”

            “It was a bad one,” Draco admitted.

            “I’m here.”

            “I know.”

            “I’m here.”

            “I know.” Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry’s. “You’re freezing.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “Do you want another blanket?”

            Harry turned to face him, brushing his free hand across Draco’s face. “You’re warm.”

            Yes, and the shaking was stopping, but Harry was cold. Draco frowned. “I’m more worried about you. You haven’t slept.”

            “I won’t.”

            “Do you want to go for a walk?”

            “Should we bring the cloak?”

            “I’ve never used it.”

            “I don’t want to run into anyone.”

            “Neither do I. But is it okay?”

            Harry’s eyes were soft. “’Course it’s okay. We’ll have to disillusion ourselves, too, though, because it isn’t going to cover more than half of us.”

            “That’s fine. I’m good at it.”

            “You’re brilliant at it,” Harry said as the wriggled free of tangled blankets.

            Draco reached for a sweater to pull on over his pajamas. When Harry’d done the same, and once they both had shoes, Draco said, “come here,” and cast on both of them.

            “Shit, you’re good,” Harry said quietly.

            “Where’s your cloak?”

            “In my trunk, come on,” and Harry grabbed his hand.

            A few minutes later they were half-invisible and half-mostly-invisible. Harry opened his wardrobe to show Draco in the mirror inside the door.

            There was no reflection from their calves up; the only thing visible below were the faint shimmers at the edge of the charms and the imprints their feet left in the rug.

            “Wow,” Draco said softly.

            “Ready to go?”

            Draco nodded before he remembered Harry couldn’t see him, even under the cloak. “Yes.”

            Harry squeezed his hand. “I could feel the cloak move when you nodded.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “Anywhere,” Harry said, leading the way out of the portrait.

            Moonlight spilled through the windows, painting the corridor silver-gray. Draco kept expecting to see it glinting off Harry’s glasses next to him and being surprised when all he saw was the silky outline of the cloak and a ripple of air he could tell was Harry smiling.

            It wasn’t as if he’d never been invisible before, or seen Harry use the cloak. But Draco felt different _this_ invisible. More invisible than he’d ever been ever. He knew people could still hear them, and that they weren’t technically perfectly invisible because the cloak was too short for them both, but a disillusionment charm by itself was different from _this_. “It’s amazing,” Draco whispered.

            He could hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “Isn’t it?”

            “Are you warm enough?”

            “I’m fine. Can cast a charm if I get cold.”

            “Do you want to do a silencing spell?”

            Draco felt the cloak shift as Harry shook his head, then replied, “Don’t think I want to. I mean, we can if you want, I just…”

            “What?”

            “Never done this with you.”

            Draco held in his breath for a second, not believing the awe in Harry’s voice, then said, “Fuck it,” and lifted the disillusionment charm.

            Harry gasped. Draco could see and he loved it.

            “Someone might see our feet!”

            “This is better, though, isn’t it?”

            Harry met his eyes and smiled. “Of course it’s better.”

            They walked on in silence, hands twined together tight and looking over sometimes now they could.

            They were almost at the entrance hall when Draco said, “You were great today.” The second the words were out he knew they were a mistake. They were going on this walk to forget, to do something good and nice and not at all serious enough to remind them of the shit day they’d had, and Draco had just fucked it up.

            “You were better.”

            It took Draco a full twenty seconds to process the tone of Harry’s voice. Warm and sweet and a little sad but not at all, not at all upset.

            “I didn’t even give the speech,” Harry added.

            “I didn’t sit with my mother,” was all Draco could think to say.

            “I’m sorry about that.”

            “No,” Draco laughed (he didn’t know why exactly) and glanced at Harry. “Don’t be. It was better I sit with the students.”

            “People sat with their families.”

            “She did, she had Andromeda and Teddy. And I did.” When Harry looked confused, Draco added, “I sat with my family.”

            “Oh.”

            “I wanted to sit with you, anyway. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel bad. And you shouldn’t. I still got to be with them, just not… I needed you, too.”

            “ _You_ needed _me_?”

            “Yeah. I was tired and upset and Rita Skeeter would’ve torn me apart for failing to show support to my boyfriend during this troubled time.”

            “Hermione’s blackmailing her, you didn’t have to-” Harry’s breath caught.

            “What?”

            “You would’ve done it anyway. You would’ve sat with me anyway.”

            “Yes. And you would’ve sat with me if I asked. But you were more important today.”

            Harry made a sound of protest.

            “You were more important today. I might be more important on exam day when you have to talk me out of a nervous breakdown, or the next time I go see my father in prison. You might be more important if I bring home a cat and it turns out you’re deathly afraid of them.”

            “I’m not afraid of cats.”

            But that wasn’t the point, and Draco knew Harry knew it. “You have to let me do things for you if you want me to let you return the favor.”

            “I let you take me on this walk even though I think you should be sleeping.”

            Draco squeezed his hand. “Some sleep is better than none. And you’re more important today.”

            Harry cast a tempus charm. “It’s not the second anymore.”

            “Good thing I want to be on this walk, then.”

 

            The weekend was calm and peaceful and they talked a lot.

            Harry kept saying things like, "I don't hate Hogwarts for what happened last year.”

            And then Draco’d not know quite what to say, so he’d say something like, "You said you couldn't..."

            Harry smiled, no humor in it. "Go back to where I was shut in a cupboard until I was eleven?"

            Draco closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, opened them again. He kept doing this. He kept not knowing what to say when Harry said something serious to him and then- "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to-"

            "You're not. Bringing things up or- I know. I know what you mean.” Harry stroked his hand. So, that was nice. Good, even. Harry’s voice was quieter as he added, “And you- you let me in. Before we knew we could be friends. Before we knew we could be anything.”

            Draco shook his head. “You approached me after the trials. You came to me in the common room that day.”

            “You said yes. To McGonagall. And a whole lot of other things, though I’m nowhere near unreasonable enough to hold you to that one.”

            Draco remembered. It felt like years ago even though it’d only been weeks. “You’ll be rethinking that when you want to paint the kitchen red and I want it yellow.”

            “You haven’t moved in yet,” mused Harry. “Maybe I’ll move into the Manor.”

            “A Black in town and a Malfoy in the country?”

            Harry was looking at him dreamily again. They’d been talking about something horrible not ten seconds ago and Harry was smiling and it was so beautiful Draco wanted to scream. “We’ll figure it out,” Harry said easily.

            It was always easy with him. “You know, we don’t have to live together right away.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I mean, I know we’re used to sleeping in the same bed and-”

            “Draco?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Are you kicking me out?”

            “No! I’m suggesting we do the sensible thing and… fuck it, fine, where do you want to live?”

            “Anywhere. We can move out of the country if you want.”

            “Don’t want to move out of the country. Everyone’s here. You’re here. Well, I mean, we can go on holiday obviously, a very long holiday, but if you don’t want to leave I-”

            “I just want to be where you are.”

            Draco made a distressed sound.

            “What?”

            “You keep doing that. Saying you only want to be with me or you’re fine as long as you’re with me or- a hundred versions of that.”

            “Does it scare you?”

            “Of course it doesn’t- I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you think for five minutes I’m going to let you paint anything in the Manor _red_ \- oh, come on!” Harry was tickling him again. “You don’t need to- do this- every time-”

            Harry stopped. “Why not?”

            “Oh, I don’t know, because if you do one of these days I’m going to piss myself, and as I happen to be sitting on your lap most of the time- Yes- by all means- continue tickling- me-”


	27. Warm

            Harry was actually okay this time and he really meant it.

            Not in the way he meant it when he was trying to get Ron to stop looking concerned- no, Harry meant it in the way he meant it when he and Draco were having sex and Draco was asking if he was alright- which, yeah, he pretty much was, and would take the comfort trade off nearly any day for that, and honestly he couldn’t have been more generally comfortable with Draco if he fucking tried. Not that Harry had ever thought there would be a context for putting concerned Ron and sex with Draco in the same sentence- or, well, even if there might be it wouldn’t be, like, _that_ context, but- he was fine.

            Sometimes it occurred to Harry that the world was half-falling-apart around him- Draco was an absolute mess about exams and most of the rest of their year was panicking right along with him- but when it did Harry would think “yeah, I’m back here, though, doing this (school), with him (a person he cared about who wasn’t also in danger that second of being killed),” and everything would slot into this marvelous calm place where nothing mattered except the softness of Draco’s hair or the way Hermione laughed when she wasn’t worried about anything more serious than nonverbal charms.

            Which was still a little strained, come mid-May, but laughing was so much better than- than anything else, really.

            Draco’s tickling thing made more sense when Harry thought about that. He thought about Draco rather a lot, actually. It was nice. It was better than thinking about exams the way the exams themselves were better than pretty much any situation Harry’d lived through near the end of any school year before that one. Like, the month was fucked, Harry was studying as much as everybody else and would be surprised if he survived both the exams themselves and the political shitstorm he was facing on graduation regardless of whether or not he passed them all, but he had a boyfriend and the people he’d loved longest in his life were alive, so how much did the rest of it really matter?

            So he kept making people tea and things and driving them mad. It was fucking wonderful.

            “Didn’t you want to get through chapter nine again, Harry?” Hermione asked with that ‘please don’t make us console you if you don’t get top marks’ expression.

            “In a minute. Wanted a break anyway.”

            Some people would roll their eyes or make distressed sounds or even laugh at the overconfidence required to take so many breaks, but Harry was alive, and he genuinely truly really could not express the vast extent to which that was _enough_ for him. That and the safe and happy lives of the people he cared about, which, again, check and check barring exams, so- yes. Harry was good. Possibly great. Possibly better than he had been any other time he could remember.

            “You know you recently said ‘fuck studying’ to me and meant it?” he asked Draco fondly one evening when neither of them were having curses thrown at them or attempting to navigate the whims of dark wizards. Which neither of them would hopefully ever have to do ever again.

            Draco didn’t look up from his book. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

            Harry laughed. “Maybe not. But when was the last time you took a break?”

            He must have sounded sincere because Draco glanced up. He did that when Harry sounded sincerer than Draco thought was humanly possible. He’d explained this to Harry once, very late at night when neither of them was sleeping or very coherent. Draco looked just then like he couldn’t remember when last he’d taken a break, like he was still a little amazed that Harry wasn’t freaking out, and like even though Harry had a point he probably wasn’t going to take a break, anyway.

            “Please?” Harry tried with the honeyed sweetness Draco used every time he wanted Harry to melt into a puddle of infatuation.

            Apparently this didn’t work on Draco, because he frowned. “I’ve got three lessons left to cover before I’m through this round of notes.”

            Harry sighed. “Will you take a break after that?”

            “After that it’ll probably be dinner.”

            “Fine. Will you take a break during dinner, then?”

            Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “If I take a break during dinner will you stop asking me to take breaks every five minutes?”

            “I went three hours before I asked you last time!”

            “You’re pouting.”

            “So you’re not going to take more breaks on principle or you find that cute enough to take a break this time?”

            Draco snorted. “You presume so much.”

            Harry kept pouting.

            “Fine. Kiss me for five minutes so I can forget?”

            Harry did.

 

            “This is it.”

            “You keep saying that. We’ve got almost two weeks left.”

            “Almost… Harry, two weeks is not a very long time.”

            “I know.”

            “Has Hermione properly impressed upon you how _close_ NEWTs are?”

            “I think she has. Ron’s helped.”

            “What about Serena? Has she said anything?”

            Harry laughed. “No. I think she thinks I don’t care, which is almost true, so she doesn’t bother me.”

            “You don’t-” Draco cut off, shaking his head. “Right. We’ve been over this. You don’t care especially much because you’re going to do whatever you want anyway and you’ve been through much worse.”

            “I’m not going to do whatever I want anyway if I don’t have the qualifications.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, you could get into healer training with anything higher than Ts. They’d make an exception. Remedial potions, right?”

            Harry tipped sideways and bumped shoulders with him. They were leaning against the back of a sofa in the Slytherin common room, which was packed with distracted fifth years. The seventh and eighth years had taken to holing up in Ravenclaw at all hours; Harry went there sometimes, but Draco was less tense around people not in their year- and around Slytherins in general- and if they confined themselves completely to their rooms one of them was bound to lose it sooner rather than later. Not that Harry felt remotely close to losing anything at the moment. Either way, better safe than sorry.

            Harry had almost forgotten that Draco knew about remedial potions. Harry had told him it was Occlumency once, after he’d had a nightmare about it. It was the kind of thing people never knew or never remembered, the kind of thing that was unimportant to the masses and so well-known to Ron and Hermione that it hardly came up anymore. But Draco knew it. Draco knew so many things about Harry. They’d just keep popping up everywhere, and Harry loved it, because it made it feel like he’d known Draco a thousand years instead of a handful and he didn’t get to feel that very often. Before, everything was too fast or too difficult or aching all the time, and now it was just- brilliant.

            “Why do you look like you’re doing a spell for the first time all over again?”

            “What? Oh. Nothing.” But Harry was beaming, probably.

            “It’s not that I don’t like seeing you happy, I’m just worried that-”

            “Oh.”

            Draco suddenly looked alarmed. “What? I haven’t done it, have I? Merlin’s fucking pants I have. Harry? Are you alright?”

            “Oh,” Harry said again, because everything was brilliant, but Draco had a point. Why hadn’t Harry been freaking out about exams? They had less than twelve days to prepare for them, and Harry had technically missed _years_ of instruction in two of his classes. “Oh. No. No, Draco, you haven’t brought it on.”

            “Your poker face is failing you. Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

            Harry snorted. “Ruin the mood? It was bound to happen sooner or later. And I’m fine.”

            Draco appeared to be having a hard time believing that. “Really?”

            “Really. I needed that. I need to stop procrastinating.” Harry stared down at his books with newfound disgust, having finally realized just how much of them he needed to reabsorb if he wanted the slightest bit of that happy glowing confidence to come through during the exams themselves.

            Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and rubbed his arm a little. His eyes were half-bracing and half-apologetic. “I’m sorry, heart. You’re right, though. Better now than a week from now.”

            “Right. Yeah.” Harry raked a hand through his hair and attempted to gather his thoughts. “So. Revision. I’ve gone through DADA and Charms already, so now I should- do History?” He glanced up for Draco’s input.

            “Do you have your History notes with you?” Draco asked gently.

            Harry must look more hopeless than he thought. He tried to sound reassuring. “No, but I’ve got Astronomy here, and that’s almost as good.”

            “I can go and see if Blaise is around, if you want some History. Or I’ve got some of my Astronomy ones in my bag now…” Draco began rifling through his things.

            Harry placed a hand over his to still it. “S’fine. We can go back to the rooms after dinner and if I feel really bad I’ll go up to Ravenclaw tower.”

            “Will you be able to get in?”

            “Luna told me yesterday they’ll open it if someone knocks. Though that ends up being quite annoying to whoever’s nearest the door, I think she said something about a rotation- yeah, I can get in.”

            “Do you want me to come with?”

            “Not if you don’t want to.”

            Draco bit his lip.

            “Want to stay here until dinner, split up for a few hours, meet back- well, whenever I get done in Ravenclaw?”

            Draco cocked his head to the side. “How d’you always have a plan?”

            Harry shrugged. “Used to thinking on the fly, I guess? I never follow through with them.”

            “Well, yes, but the fact you can just turn one out at a moment’s notice is- I mean, you didn’t even think about it.”

            “You need another break.”

            “What?”

            Harry gave him a knowing look. “You haven’t looked down in a while and you’re overcomplimenting me again.”

            Draco frowned. “Oh.”

            “No, no, it’s fine, you need a break.”

            “No, I mean I didn’t realize… Do I overcompliment you when I need a break?”

            “Kind of. It’s nice I know you mean it and aren’t just making it up, but I sort of…”

            “Right.” Draco laughed shortly. “Last week’s Prophet was _horrifying_. And you like avoiding people, too, even if you’re going to Ravenclaw later.”

            Harry grimaced. “I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

            “Want me to come with?”

            “You probably have something to do, don’t you? And I know I’m annoying the shite out of everybody else with how serious I haven’t been studying, so it’d make sense if you wanted to-” Harry cut off at Draco’s look. “What?”

            “It’d make sense if I wanted to voluntarily spend _time away from you_?”

            “Yeah, maybe? I’ve been a bit clingly lately, haven’t I?”

            Draco stared. Hard. “A bit,” he whispered, shaking his head.

            “Okay, so that was an understatement, until last week I threw a fit if we were apart for longer than breakfast to lunch, I take it you’d like some time to do… something other than that?”

            Draco looked uncertain. On one hand, Harry knew he’d been absolutely ridiculous and the fact Harry had just offered to leave Draco alone for more than a few minutes probably floored him. On the other hand, Harry’s behavior hadn’t exactly gone unencouraged by Draco. They’d passed into a ‘together until stated otherwise’ kind of place.

            Finally Draco said, “I think that’s a good idea.”

            “Okay then.” Harry flipped open his notes and intertwined his fingers with Draco’s, only blushing a little.

 

            “You’re smart. You’ll be fine.”

            “I’m sorry, what?”

            “Well, she has a point, doesn’t she?” chimed Ron. “You’ve made it this far with alright marks, haven’t you? Just because it’s exams doesn’t mean it’ll go arse over teakettle.”

            Harry smiled crookedly at them, Ron and Hermione sitting very calmly and studiously across the table from him while some of their other friends lounged in the background- Luna’s head was in Ginny’s lap and Dean was reading Seamus flash cards. “You know I really love it here.”

            Luna’s head popped over the arm of the sofa. “What, in Ravenclaw, or just here in general? Scotland? The UK? The Northern hemisphere perhaps?”

            “Hogwarts. I love Hogwarts.”

            “Me, too,” Luna agreed, and went back to studying.

            Hermione was giving him a fond look from across the table. “You’ve always loved it here.”

            “Reckon I always will.”

            “Of course you will. It’s Hogwarts,” Ron said, as if that settled it. Which it maybe sort of did. Then, casually, “You weren’t thinking of coming back?”

            “Like, teaching?”

            Ron raised his eyebrows. “You’d be a bit more interesting than Binns, I think.”

            “You know he’s actually really informative if you can stay awake,” Harry said.

            “I’ve known that for years.”

            “Yes, Hermione, we all need to read Hogwarts, a History-”

            “I’ve read it,” said Harry. “I liked the bits about modernizing the castle.”

            Ron gave him a strange look. “She’d give you the first years, you know. McGonagall. She’d give you the first and second years so they didn’t give up hope right away, and then if they really cared they’d stay on for Binns. Until you’d passed the training period. I would never suggest ousting such a historical figure, of course, but- you’d be good.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” Hermione said. She was looking at him that way, too. It was… oh Merlin they were being proud of him.

            “Hey. Don’t.”

            “Don’t what?” Hermione asked.

            “Distract yourselves daydreaming about my nonexistent teaching career. I want to do reform, first, and if I-” Harry paused for a moment, thought about it, and decided to plow on since there was really no reason they shouldn’t know it, “- if I want to come back later, maybe. Better to slap my name on things for good causes than it is to become a second Lockhart. What about you? Sticking to your muggle uni plan?”

            Hermione laughed. “No. I think I’m doing law, actually. D’you have any idea how backwards…” she trailed off when she caught Harry’s expression. “Yes, that’s what you’ll be doing from the outside, isn’t it? Reform. I think I can handle all the paperwork and politics and the other nonsense that goes into it, so I would be able to make a real change.”  
            “Attacking injustice from three sides,” Ron said. “The best two people to join the DMLE in decades and Harry on the last front. Taking the wizarding establishment by storm.”

            “Business as usual, then,” Harry said easily.

            The three of them looked at each other for a second, then burst out laughing- which earned them an appreciative chortle of sympathy from Luna and a whole lot of angry shushes and glares.

            Worth it. Laughing was definitely worth it.

            When Harry had his breath back he used it to sigh down at his notes. “Guess we should get back to this, now our fate’s decided.”

            Hermione smiled. “Someone should tell Professor Trelawney Ron had the Sight all along. All we need is a prediction of Harry’s untimely demise and an assurance of eternal logical misery for me and it’ll be perfectly sorted.”

            “My Inner Eye hasn’t worked since about the third day of her class, Hermione, so I don’t know what you’re on about-”

            “At least you have an Inner Eye. I banished mine to the abyss or something. I couldn’t see a single Grim in anyone’s tea leaves all term.”

            Harry was grinning ridiculously. “You know she was right.”

            “She wasn’t only right about that,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “There was that ‘beware a red-haired man’ business, and Ron did steal Lavender from her girlfriend for an entire year-”

            “Must you bring up my tragic romantic misjudgments at a time as serious as this? I mean, honestly, Hermione, we’re supposed to be studying-”

            “We were supposed to be studying ten minutes ago, too, but we weren’t doing it then, either,” Harry pointed out. “Maybe we need a proper break.”

            “Don’t tell me you’re being not serious again?” moaned Ron. “I was looking forward to my turn as hopeless delinquent, what am I going to do now?”

            “You’re going into auror training, you can be a hopeless delinquent there,” Hermione said. “Why don’t we go and see Hagrid?”

            Harry glanced around. They were being stared at angrily by at least three other tables, and his left leg was asleep. “Good idea.”

            “Hang on,” Ron said. “I don’t think we should leave our things here.”

            “My room’s on the way. You can leave it in there,” Harry offered.

            “Let’s go, then.” Ron cast an uneasy glance at a Hufflepuff whose accusatory glare was practically burning a hole through her DADA textbook.

            When they got to the sitting room, Draco was reading a not-textbook. He looked more relaxed than Harry had seen him awake in a while. Draco glanced up when they came in. “Oh, hello. Moved the party?”

            “Not exactly. Going down to Hagrid’s. We’re leaving our things here.”

            “Back to studying when you get back, then?”

            “I dunno, I… think we might be there late, actually,” Harry said. He’d been glancing at Ron and Hermione for signals, and neither of them looked very keen on the idea of more studying. Harry leaned over the back of the sofa and dropped his voice for some semblance of privacy. “Want to come?”

            Draco shook his head. “Have fun?”

            For a second Harry just looked at Draco, smiling lazily and curled up warm and content. The studying had been a great idea, Harry decided. He grinned and kissed Draco on the cheek. “Yeah. See you later.”

            “Love you,” Draco said as Harry drifted back from the couch.

            “Love you, too.” Harry turned and found Ron and Hermione loitering politely in the hallway. “I’m not that bad anymore. Nothing like the two of you in month one, if Ginny can be believed.”

            “We didn’t say anything,” Hermione said, but she was smiling.

            A few hours later Harry felt like the tea and talking and laughter had rolled into a ball with the warmth of Hagrid’s roaring fire and tucked itself into his chest. Also he felt sleepy. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

            “Mmm, you look tired… want us to come with you?” Hermione offered.

            Harry shook his head. “Stay.”

            “Yer welcome anytime, o’course,” Hagrid said with a slap to Harry’s back that would have knocked him over had he been standing. “Ya need yer rest.”

            “I’ll be back when I’m less-” Harry yawned, “-in danger of passing out. You two can come by whenever, the painting will open for you,” he added to Ron and Hermione.

            Hagrid insisted on walking him to the door, and Fang went a few yards with him across the lawn, and then it was just Harry and the fresh May air and stars. It was nice.

            Draco was still reading when he got up. “Have a good time at Hagrid’s?”

            “Yeah. I told them to come and get their things when-” Harry yawned again, “-ever. Damnit.”

            “Come here.” Draco slid down the sofa and threw his blanket back.

            Harry didn’t need telling twice.

            Probably a few hours later, when the fire was long burned out and Harry had sunk into the warmth of Draco behind him, he heard the portrait open.

            Ron swore in a whisper. Hermione shushed him.

            Harry thought he felt Draco smile against his neck, but he could have been imagining that one.

            He heard books banging together in bags, a smack and another ‘shit’ as Ron tripped over a chair, and a tense sigh from Hermione.

            Then the portrait was opening again, and Ron was hissing, “Goodnight, Harry. Night, Draco,” and then it was closed and Harry was warm and sleeping.


	28. Exams

            Draco couldn’t believe it.

            “Nearly there.”

            “Yes, but…” Draco shook his head. “How?”

            “You made it through the year.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly an answer.”

            “Best one I’ve got, though,” Harry said easily.

            It only took a minute of that smile (still so ridiculous even though Draco _knew_ it now, still surprising and still unexpected because Harry was smiling like that mere _days_ away from exams) for Draco to give up. “Fine. You get points for trying.”

            “How many points does that make?”

            Draco snorted. “I’m not a Prefect, and I’m not actually counting, so I don’t know?”

            “Fair enough. How many points ‘til I get a prize?”

            Draco shot a glance at the clock and sighed. “I don’t know… However many you can get until we have time to have sex again?”

            “I’d settle for a kiss. Or chocolate, or something. And weren’t we just going to blow off proper sleep after Astronomy?”

            “Well, yes, but if you’re tired today-” Draco started.

            “I slept last night! I’m fine. We can stay up late this one time, and then we can get back to being responsible future graduated citizens tomorrow. We’ve got hours after dinner, since we need to stay up. Actually, if you wanted to do before Astronomy-”

            “I am not climbing that blasted tower with wet hair.”

            “You can use a drying charm.”

            “That makes it tangle.”

            Harry shrugged. “Unless you’re too tired-”

            “I most certainly am not! I can handle one night of purposefully shitty sleep this far out from exams. We’ll sleep this weekend. Study all Saturday and spend Sunday letting it absorb into our brains.”

            “Is that how it works, then?”

            Draco blinked. “Sleep helps you retain information.”

            Harry laughed. “No, I mean are we going to be able to do nothing Sunday? Like, is that a viable plan?”

            “You’re the one who’s good at planning.” When Harry didn’t respond, Draco sighed. “I don’t know. I want to do nothing Sunday. I really do. I think it’d be beneficial to our mental health. Or my mental health. I don’t know what’s going on in your head most of the time-”

            “Please. You’ve been able to read my face for years.”

            “Well,” Draco said slowly, biting back a grin, “That might be true, but that doesn’t mean your reactions are comprehensible-”

            “Hey! I use logic sometimes!”

            “Key word being sometimes.”

            “You know, there are others of us in the room,” Serena said mildly.

            Draco jerked back in his chair. “What? I hadn’t noticed.”

            “From the way you were carrying on like that it seemed you hadn’t. Harry’s at least looked at me a few times since I’ve come in.”

            While Draco glared at her, Harry asked, “Why are you here, anyway? If you’re just going to spend the whole time suppressing the urge to vomit at how coupley and awful we are?”

            Serena rolled her eyes, and Draco had to admit it looked much more impressive than his earlier eye-roll had felt. “I was here because Draco wanted to go over some Runes concepts with me, but if you’d rather just get each other off on nothing but romantic bickering, that’s fine by me, I can get out of here-”

            “No,” Draco sighed. “Stay.”

            Harry gave him a look.

            “We’d better go to Slytherin, then,” Draco said, rising.

            Serena shot an outraged glance at Harry. “Was I just kicked out? With a _glance_?”

            Harry shrugged. “I don’t want to be around people right now.”

            Serena gave a huff. “You two are perfect for each other. I hope you have fun locked up in your giant house with no jobs because you’re prioritizing sex breaks over exams!”

            She was halfway to the door before Draco said, “Please, like you and Pansy haven’t got a schedule worked out.”

            Serena spun on her heel, smiling wickedly. “So what if we do? Allotting time is a tinge more respectable than- actually, I’m pretty sure whatever naked cuddling the two of you get up to is much more respectable than what Pansy and I do, but-”

            “No! We’ve been over this, Serena. I do not want to know the intimate details of yours and Pansy’s sex life!” Draco said.

            “Why not? Aren’t you curious? Or maybe Harry is- I mean, after all, I did once suggest-”

            Draco interrupted her before she could bring it up. “The miniscule amount of curiosity I have in that department is made negligible by the private nature of the situation, and the fact that if you shared information, even voluntarily, you would then behave as if you were entitled to have that exchange completed.”

            Serena ran her tongue over her teeth and turned to go. “Your loss.”

            “I’m GAY!” Draco shouted at her back. Then, to Harry, “I’ll see you at dinner?”

            “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to see Blaise, ac-” at Draco’s please-no-more look, Harry cut off. “Or not.”

            “I’m not going to want to spend another minute with her after this is over,” Draco explained.

            Serena popped her head back in the room. “Are you coming, or do I have to pry you off him?”

            “I’m coming, Merlin’s sake…” Draco leaned to peck Harry on the cheek and grabbed his back off the floor. “You needn’t be so dramatic.”

            “D’you know, that’s exactly what Pansy said to me last-”

            “Serena!”

            “Right, sorry, you’ll plan to have sex while I’m here but honest discussions with your friends are off limits. Love you Harry, see you later!”

            Harry grinned. “Love you too, Serena.”

            Draco mouthed ‘Love you more’ on his way out.

            Harry’s confident “I know” was the last thing Draco heard before the painting shut behind him.

            Serena side-eyed Draco as they walked. “You’ve got it bad.”

            “Shut up. I know. I fell in love with him on purpose.”

            “Sure you did. And I started staring at Pansy across the library on purpose-”

            “Hang on.” Draco held up a hand. “You met at the library? Like, a muggle library, over the summer? Since when does Pansy frequent the library?”

            Serena shrugged. “She was usually reading romance novels when we were both there, and, I don’t know, I guess she caught me staring one too many times and had to come up and ask why I was staring. I know that’s hard to believe coming from a brazen individual such as myself-”

            “Very brazen, staring at people in libraries, how risqué, don’t know why they didn’t pitch you out for indecent behavior-”

            “Your relationship was predominantly staring for a while, too, if I recall correctly.”

            Draco huffed. “Yes, well… Even then there was talking. Insults, at least.”

            “What a wonderful way to start a relationship.”

            “Oh, don’t start. If I spent half as much time arguing with Harry as you do arguing with Pansy-”

            “You do!” Serena protested. “You’re almost always arguing, you were arguing just now-”

            Draco held up a hand. “Maybe so, but they aren’t real arguments.”

            Serena dropped her voice from playful to dangerous. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

            “It means that Harry and I argue about things with low stakes, for the fun of it, as opposed to you and Pansy, who I believe have some twisted running joke about putting live snakes in Pansy’s bed when the other of you isn’t looking-”

            Serena went scarlet. “We have a complex relationship.”

            Draco smiled. “As long as you’re happy, love.”

            “Fucking cop-out,” Serena muttered, nevertheless looking placated.

            “Which were the Runes concepts you wanted to go over?”

            “Oh, let’s wait, shall we? We’re already halfway there, and I don’t fancy pulling my notes out in the middle of the bloody corridor.”

            “Fine. Will we be running into your less logical half in the common room?”

            Serena waved a hand. “I don’t know. She’s got it in her head that being in Ravenclaw Tower allows her to absorb knowledge out of the air or something, so she probably won’t be back ‘til late.”

 

            The day of reckoning had come. This is what Draco thought as he watched the sun come up in his painting on the first day of NEWTs. By some miracle, he’d been asleep during the actual sunrise. Credit it to Harry’s steady breathing or the nightmares both of them had had last week instead of this one or the cup of mint tea Harry had used to lull him into sleepiness the night before. Whatever it was, it had gotten Draco the best night’s sleep he’d had in a while, and he didn’t feel nearly so close to completely panicking that morning as he’d thought he would twelve hours before.

            Harry stirred next to him. His breathing was losing its evenness, his right arm snaking around Draco’s waist.

            When he pressed a kiss to the back of Draco’s neck, Draco knew Harry was awake. Or awake enough, at least. “Morning.”

            “Morning,” Harry murmured, sounding very awake.

            “That painting’s lovely.”

            “You’re lovely.”

            Draco rolled to face him. “So are you. Did you sleep?”

            “Loads. Did you?”

            Draco nodded.

            “Are you ready?”

            “Yes. Are you?”

            “When am I not?” Harry joked, but Draco could hear the nervous edge in his voice. See it in the way Harry was checking Draco’s eyes for okayness and the way they didn’t entirely settle into calm when he saw that Draco wasn’t freaking out. So Harry must be, a little.

            “How are you?” Draco asked.

            Harry pulled him closer and buried his face in Draco’s neck. “I’ve been worse.” He held Draco for a long moment. Then he said, “Time to start the day,” and both of them got up and started to dress with reluctant smiles in quietness.

            Four days and some hours later, Draco took a seat at the Slytherin table and took in the worn faces around him.

            “No Harry today?” Pansy asked tiredly.

            Draco shook his head. “He might come later.”

            “Have you scheduled something for tonight, then?” Serena asked with mock-innocence.

            Draco glared, opened his mouth, then thought better of the insult and went instead with, “We’re free now.”

            “Yes, I know.” Serena rolled her eyes. “My entire academic career has been leading up to this past week.”

            “We’re free,” Draco repeated. He laughed. “Free.”

            “Are you alright, darling?” Blaise looked mildly alarmed. “Have you finally gone mad?”

            “No,” Draco said, turning to him. “We’re done. Finished. No more school forever unless we’re doing something like law or healer training, and last I checked you were going into performance art, so you’re free, too.”

            “I still haven’t decided between law and healing,” Serena said.

            “Yes, but you don’t have to do that. It isn’t required.” When Draco’s encouraging smile got nothing but Serena’s ‘oh, you’re doing this now’ expression, he added, “We can do whatever we want. We can go backpacking through South America or spend a weekend in Paris-”

            “You do that regularly,” Pansy pointed out.

            “Yes,” Draco said, with increasing emphasis, “but now I can do it at any time of the year.”

            “Hardly. Peak season’s quite awful.”

            Draco shook his head. “You’re missing the point.”

            “Perhaps we’re too tired to get it? Or we already do whatever we want anyway, being Slytherins, so it isn’t sinking in very quickly?” Blaise suggested.

            “Oh, honestly…” Draco cast around for something that would better articulate his point. “I can kiss Harry Potter.”

            “You could do that before,” Serena said.

            “But I can do it in America if I want.”

            “Why would you want to go there? Paris is much better in the summer-”

            “Yes, Pansy, but…” Draco tried to find the right way to describe it.

            Serena cocked her head to the side. “It’s really over?”

            Draco met her eyes. “Yes. I mean, it’s not, but it’s…”

            “Really really over,” Pansy said under her breath, understanding alighting in her eyes.

            “Yes,” Draco said.

            “You should go and kiss him then.”

            Draco turned to Blaise. “What?”

            “Your boyfriend. You know. In Paris, or wherever. Backstage at my first opening night, I don’t know. In the fucking Forbidden Forest if you want.”

            Draco grabbed Blaise’s face and kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you.”

            “I call dibs on title of the one who finally drove Draco insane,” Serena muttered as Draco rose and started making for the Gryffindor table, smiling.

            When he got there Harry looked up. “Oh, hello.”

            Draco leaned down and kissed him.

            Harry was smiling as he pulled away. “What was that for?”

            “Just love you, is all.”

            “Alright. Love you, too.”

            “See you later?”

            “’Course,” Harry said, beaming, and Draco went back to the Slytherin table and sat down.

            “That was rather romantic,” Pansy said with a smirk.

            “Yes,” Draco said, “I suppose it was.”

 

            Draco took the long way back from dinner.

            He wasn’t sure why he did it, beyond a feeling. A pull. It said ‘take the long way back from dinner, you’re almost gone from here’ and Draco said ‘alright’  back.

            The long way took him past the Room.

            Draco shouldn’t want to be near the Room. Not anywhere near it. He should want to race back to their rooms and slot himself onto the sofa behind Harry in that place he fit perfectly and never move again. Or at least until one of them got hungry. Draco should want to take his broom out over the Forest and fly until he couldn’t see the castle anymore. Should want to slip into a prefects’ bathroom and have sex with Harry, the long, slow, senseless kind where they lost track of everything but the feeling of skin against skin. He should want to fuck off to Paris just because he could, because he was free, free and free and free, and he could do anything.

            Harry could. Anything. Draco had meant it every time he told Harry, not every day maybe but over and over and over again until he believed it. Until Draco believed it.

            Harry didn’t need to say it back. Harry said ‘you can do anything’ to Draco in the way he looked at him, the way Harry’s eyes mirrored Draco’s with more passion and ferocity than one person should be able to feel. Of course Draco could do anything too, they were together, damnit.

            They were together.

            But Draco was good. Merlin, was he good. He hadn’t felt that good in… fuck. In forever. He didn’t know what it felt like to feel that good, before. Before it was a far-reaching thing, a thing he thought he’d get if he tried.

            He had to try so hard, then. Just to find something that was… alright. Not good. Solid. Reassuring. Hopeful. Harry brought that back for him. Hogwarts brought that back for him. Draco brought it back for himself, plowed through all the bad things to get where he was, finally, finally, fine. The real kind. Not the kind contingent on something dark or evil. The kind that stuck.

            Draco was so fine he didn’t need to try to be anymore.

            You couldn’t try for Harry. Draco knew that, now. Because no amount of trying would ever be enough. Not to pay him back, or make him understand, or… anything. And Harry didn’t want Draco to try. Not to repay him or make it up to him or any of it. Harry just wanted to be loved back. Someone couldn’t give as much as Harry did, so so much, everything, and expect to get it back. Harry was just happy to be with him, and even though no amount of trying would ever reciprocate that, Draco knew all Harry wanted in return was the same from Draco. Love. So long as Draco wanted it, too.

            Which he did. So much. More than he’d ever wanted almost anything, just about as much as he wanted to fly for the rest of his life. Different because even though Draco couldn’t imagine a life without flying he knew he’d be able to manage it so long as he had Harry.

            With Harry he could do anything.

            With Harry he could go back into the Room, maybe.

            It must have known he needed that again. To see the soot-stained door he’d stumbled through after Harry had saved his life. People didn’t save lives if they expected something in return. Draco would’ve maybe not saved Harry’s. Harry would’ve known that when he pulled him out of the fire, knew it. The same way Harry knew the night before, with his fingers curling around Draco’s even in sleep, that Draco would save him if they were back there now.

            Draco knew he would. He knew it to his bones

            But they’d never be back there again.

            Never again.

            Exams were over and all that was left was everything else.

            The next time Draco left Hogwarts it wouldn’t be to bide his time until he came back. It would be for good, maybe (if hopefully not) forever, and when he did come back he’d be a person he couldn’t have imagined a year ago.

            Draco would be him. Not ‘Malfoy’ or a death eater or a Slytherin. He’d just be him.

            It was exhilarating. It was amazing and terrifying and made Draco feel better than he had ever felt in his life.

Draco had no idea what he was going to do when he left Hogwarts, and he didn’t mind at all.

            Well, he did sort of know (he was going to start a flying school), but a year ago ‘sort of’ would have been far too uncertain and now it was- it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more left. Sorry I didn't drop them all at once- I'm still regaining my writing mojo, or just got it back. I'm seriously just going to post as soon as I finish. Thank you so much for sticking with this story! I've had a great time, and I hope that you have, too.


	29. Good

            “We’re done.”

            “You’ve said so about seventeen times in the past few minutes.”

            “I know, I just- it’s really over. Our time at Hogwarts. We’re really leaving.” Harry stared out over the Great Hall for one of the last times, and he couldn’t believe it was one of the last times, Hogwarts was just so- “constant.”

            Draco glanced quickly up at him and only took a second to get the thread of the thought. “Safe.”

            Harry turned to him. “Yeah. Safe.” He thought of the hollow laugh he would have made six, maybe even four months ago. Now it didn’t come.

            Harry couldn’t believe it.

            The conversation went on without him, Draco looking swiftly away and saying something like ‘no thanks to Longbottom’s plant army’ and getting everyone laughing, shifting the conversation away so Harry could just… think. He didn’t get to do that, often. Or hadn’t. Now he just- his life was about thinking. Strategizing, or planning, or studying and then translating it into things to be done, reforms to be made, starting positions to force his way into because he’d be damned if he was starting off as manager of anything-

            “Harry?” Hermione’s voice, like it often did, pulled him gently back.

            “Just thinking about my career, is all.”

            “Your career? You mean the shit job you’re going to convince someone to give you so you can learn the ins and outs of the charity world?” Ron asked.

            “Yeah. I mean, I don’t have to convince anyone, I just have to find someone to work for who isn’t-”

            “-a sycophant or a prat?” Blaise offered, appearing out of nowhere as usual.

            “Exactly.”

            “Slytherin vocabulary too unsophisticated for you?” Hermione questioned as Blaise slid into the bench between her and Ron. Neither of them seemed to mind, and it made Harry smile in a way that was bound to make him look less sane than usual.

            “They’re making plans to go somewhere for the express purpose of tasting a certain type of macarons, and as I think they’re overpriced and a bit pretentious-”

            “Not what you thought when they appeared at the Hufflepuff table for dinner last Tuesday,” Neville said under his breath.

            Blaise replied with over-the-top outrage, launching them into a loud and entertaining argument across Ron’s plate. Ron, for his part, looked like he was enjoying it- his expressions were so exaggerated he almost outdid Blaise.

            Harry couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of dinner.

 

            “What do we do now?”

            “Like, you want to go again, or were you talking about our respective five-year plans?”

            “I think a six-month plan is about as far out as I can handle. Not that I don’t want to-”

            “Yes, Potter, we know, you’re madly in love with me, you want to be with me forever, you couldn’t imagine life without me. Also your post-Hogwarts job is completely up in the air at this point. You can always partner with me, you know. I’ve heard you’re a spectacular flier.”

            “Technically I’ve already partnered with-”

            Draco heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Merlin. Are we doing _this_ again?”

            Harry kept smiling. “It’s been, what, a month of proper dating and you’re already getting tired of me telling you how great you are?”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “It gets a bit tedious when I already know.”

            “Will you be saying that ten years from now?”

            “I thought you were having trouble planning next week? And I’d like to think I’ll have figured out that horrible selective hearing thing by then-”

            “You’d damn well better not.”

            “What if I do?”

            “I’ll paint the kitchen magenta.”

            “If we’re living in the Manor by then, you will absolutely not be removing the antique wallpaper or covering it with a half-arsed home improvement spell-”

            “How d’you know we’ll be there? What if we’re at Grimmauld Place, or in another country or something?”

            “I have two problems with this.” Draco propped his head in his hand and settled in for what Harry sincerely hoped would be a long argument. “First off, I don’t know we’ll be there, but I don’t think there will ever be a point in time when a magenta kitchen sounds like a good idea. Second, which country would you be able to live in whilst continuing to reform the British wizarding government?”

            “Scotland?” Harry suggested.

            “Thought you said you didn’t want to teach here.”

            “I don’t. But there are plenty of places farther south-”

            “What, Edinburgh? You’re making me move to Edinburgh, aren’t you? You’re going to insist I leave behind the convenience and modernity of London life for the slower pace of the northern countryside-”

            “It’s hardly countryside,” Harry began, then realized the implications of what Draco’d just said. “Hang on. Did you just agree to move in with me?”

            “I’ll get more business there than I will in Wiltshire.”

            Harry loved him. He loved the shrewdness and excitement mixing in his voice and the glint of ‘of course you’re stuck with me’ in his eye and the ‘think how many adventures we’ll have’ running under all of it. He loved Draco so much he couldn’t not kiss him. Then he pulled back and said, “Sorry,” and Draco said, “You don’t have to apologize for kissing me” in a voice so soft and gentle it broke Harry’s heart and put it back together in one go.

            “What?” Draco was smiling slightly, but he looked a little alarmed.

            “Sorry. I’m just thinking of how wonderful you are.”

            “Oh, again? Silly me, should’ve known. I’ll just start the selective hearing now, then, shall I?” He stopped mid-eye-roll as Harry started tickling him.

            Harry couldn’t quite remember, later, but he could swear they fell asleep laughing.

 

            Four nights before their last in the castle Draco and Harry went for a walk.

            They went everywhere. All the places in the castle that made Harry warm and the ones that made him cold. They went to the Astronomy tower, so fraught with good things and bad things that Harry’s shiver couldn’t make up its mind about being a pleasant or unpleasant one. They passed the Room of Requirement, and Harry skimmed his fingers across the door and whispered, “Thank you,” and felt Draco’s fingers tighten around his.

            They walked along the Forest, to this place where Harry’d watched the Whomping Willow with Hermione and that one where he’d gone to die for her and a hundred others. Past Hagrid’s hut where they could hear him humming through the window and the Lake with the squid drifting up to the surface to see who was wandering around after hours instead of celebrating or sleeping.

            Harry knew if he couldn’t sleep he’d be walking the halls again, like he had so many times before, memorizing the corridors before the indefinite time of not seeing them that loomed so close. Except this time if he wanted he’d have someone to walk with him. Or someone to help him sleep, maybe, better even than Ron and Hermione’s even breaths a few feet away. Someone who’d curl around him and chase the nightmares away and make him feel safe, safe, safe, safer than he’d ever felt in his life.

            Someone he loved. Draco who he loved. Draco Malfoy, enemy turned friend turned more and becoming more all the time, everything, getting stronger every day and already so strong Harry wondered how he’d ever missed it. Draco who held his hand through the hard parts and smirked when they went past the trophy room because he’d asked Harry there once just to get him caught out of bed after hours.

            “Do you think Professor McGonagall would take house points if she found us?”

            Harry grinned, remembering a time in second year and saying very confidently, “I think she’d tell us term was over and that she couldn’t take points from students who’d finished NEWTs already.”

            Draco smiled ruefully. “She favors Gryffindor, you know.”

            “Name one Headmaster that hasn’t favored their own house.”

            “I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t. You probably could though. I expect you could give me a list of them.”

            Harry blushed in spite of himself. “Expect I could.”

            “That and a whole lot of other amazing things most people never think to learn.”

            “Like which wizards helped most building the pyramids, or which ones helped most stealing them?”

            Draco laughed. “Oh, either. Me.”

            Harry pulled up short, and Draco stopped, too, but wouldn’t look at him.

            After a disbelieving second at the sight of Draco’s furious blush, Harry said, “I’m glad you finally came around.”

            Draco met his eyes. “I’m glad you helped convince me.”

 

            “The stakes feel much higher even though I know they’re not.”

            “It’s packing,” Harry said. “Just jam everything in the trunk and shrink whatever doesn’t fit.”

            “It fit on the way here.”

            “That was before Christmas.”

            “I didn’t bring _that_ many of- oh, alright, so I have two more sweaters than I did before, that doesn’t necessarily mean-”

            Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and brought him up short.

            Draco groaned, “Have you even started packing?”

            Harry shrugged. “I think I’m going to shrink all my stuff, anyway.”

            “You can’t shrink some of your potions ingredients, or your broomstick, or a whole lot of other things that might not come out quite right when you- now, really,” Draco said, definitely with an eye-roll, as Harry began kissing his neck. “We have a schedule.”

            “Not anymore.” When Draco hummed, Harry dropped his voice and added, “Not for this.”

            “We do only have three nights left before we have to live in closer proximity to other people,” Draco offered.

            “I thought you were coming to London?”

            “I thought Kreacher counted as a person? And did you or did you not work out an agreement with my mother on how many weekends we’d have to stay at the Manor?”

            “So you’re moving in, then?”

            “N- temporarily. On a trial basis. Because it’d be improper of a Malfoy to do such a thing before an official proposal of marriage.”

            “If you’re angling for that-” Harry began, but Draco spun around and cut him off.

            “I’m not angling for anything. Although I would enjoy seeing the public’s reaction to the news that Harry Potter would never again be single.”

            “How will they know we won’t have a terrible row?”

            “Oh, we’ll have hundreds of those,” Draco said dismissively. “I’m just quite positive none of them will be spectacularly terrible enough to convince me you aren’t worth it.”

            “More like the other way around,” Harry said, but he smiled all the same and pressed his face to Draco’s neck and inhaled.  “God, I love you.”

            “You’ve said.” When Harry started to pull back to shoot him a look, Draco placed a hand on his neck and held him there. “I love you, too. Please don’t move.”

            “Why not?”

            “I want to stay like this for a minute. I want to remember what this feels like.”

            “You’ll always have me nearby to remind you,” Harry murmured.

 

            “I’m going to miss the train rides.” Harry was staring out the window and wondering how it could possibly be his last one.

            “You won’t be saying that if you have to take the tube to work,” Ron offered.

            “Why would I have to take the tube to work?”

            “Because it might be easier to find a job in muggle charity and translate it all over than it would for you to start with a clean slate somewhere everyone knows your name?”

            Harry and Hermione stared at him, Harry openmouthed with astonishment, Hermione looking faintly surprised and incredibly pleased. Proud. She looked proud of him.

            Finally Harry said, “You know, Ron, you’ve got quite brilliant this past year.”

            Ron’s ears turned red. “Oh, shut up.”

            “No. I mean it. You’ve always been brilliant, just…” Harry shook his head. “You never showed it so much before.”

            “Honestly,” Ron said with an eye-roll that did not at all obscure his blush, and Harry smiled.

            Ron was good. He was finally good. And Hermione was good. She was going to see her parents over the break and start law training in the fall. She was going to take the Wizengamot by storm. So would Ron, though he’d be dragging in criminals instead of closing legislative loopholes. They’d make a good team, Harry reflected, sharing just enough classified information not to get in trouble for it- and really how could they, they’d been doing it for years- and Harry’d try to help them from the outside.

            It was a good idea. Even if Harry was sitting some crap unpaid internship and being forced to get coffee six times a day. All he’d ever wanted to do was learn, and if he went into the muggle world, he could do that. Without Prophet photographers waiting outside in the bushes for him to get off work or- well, anything else. He’d just be Harry, reputation-less for the first time since he was eleven, and, terrifying though that sounded for how vulnerable it would make him, he was- Merlin, Harry was going to be fine. He didn’t have to give up anything except maybe meeting his boyfriend for lunch every day, and who knew if Draco would have time for that, anyway?

            The door slid open and Ginny stepped in. “This compartment is woefully empty. What are you three doing, reliving that time Ron attempted to use a spell Fred and George made up?”

            “I should’ve never told you that,” Ron said as the others laughed. “No, actually. We were discussing Harry’s future.”

            “Oh, like that hasn’t been discussed at length already by half a dozen reporters.” Ginny waved away her brother’s evasion and tried again. “Aren’t there more exciting things to talk about? Your insistence on doing the full Auror training, for instance?”

            “Can’t see how that’s exciting. They’ll have us on paperwork for about the first year. Isn’t your future much more interesting?”

            “Oh, you mean training eight hours a day and flying for three? Yes, oh so exciting, I can’t wait for the bruises and blisters and broken bones-”

            “You signed with a team?” Harry asked (ignoring Ron’s sarcastic “Fame and glory, so terrible”).

            “Hollyhead Harpies. Sent back their owl last week. Mum insists I get a manager or an agent or something, but I don’t see why I would when the team’s already got one.”

            “That’s just to make sure you don’t get screwed if you agree to do anything that the whole team hasn’t agreed to,” Hermione said.

            “What, like press appearances and stuff?”

            “Yeah, that or advertising or… I mean, it might be a good idea.”

            As the two of them continued discussing the benefits of having some type of celebrity manager, Harry stood. “I’m going to step out for a bit. See you back in an hour or something?”

            Ginny smirked. “Good luck finding an empty compartment to snog in.”

            Harry stuck out his tongue at her as he left.

            Draco was in a nearly-empty compartment near the end of the train, gazing out the window while Pansy waxed poetic about her summer travel plans. When Harry came in he looked up and smiled. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

            “Oh, shall I leave you two to snog? I’m afraid Serena’s jammed in a compartment with seven other Ravenclaws playing some horrible card game, otherwise I’d insist we have the first go-”

            “Give it a rest, Pans.” Harry plopped into the seat beside Draco. “We’ve passed the snogging-all-the-time phase, last I checked-”

            She cut him off with a snort. “Please! Last breakfast of the year and I thought one of you was going to shout out your love to the entire Hall, the way you were staring at each other. Don’t know why you didn’t just lay all over each other like you clearly wanted to-”

            “We were sitting at our house tables for nostalgia. Or tradition, or something. To see the same idiots we went all the way through school with. I don’t know.” Draco shrugged and leaned into Harry. “What does it matter?”

            “It matters because- Merlin’s tits, fine. Throw House Unity out the window at the critical moment-”

            “We sat together for the memorial!” Harry protested.

            Draco gripped his hand.

            Harry refocused on Draco. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

            “It’s fine,” Draco said tiredly. “More people should be here, is all.”

            “Not your fault Blaise fucked off via portkey and Greg decided not to come back.” When Harry and Draco stared, Pansy continued, “I know that doesn’t begin to cover it, but things were different this year. No getting around it, is there?”

            “I suppose not,” Draco sighed, shifting closer to Harry.

            Harry tightened his hand around Draco’s. “Some parts are alright, though.”

            He could feel Draco smiling against his skin. “Some parts.”

            Pansy made gagging motions in the space across from them, and Harry thought, strange though it may seem, that he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Surrounded by Slytherins. Yeah. This was fine. One of them loved him. The other sort of did, too, now, in a different way. Surrounded by people he loved and planning to see plenty more before the day was over. Spectacular.

            Harry’s life would never be peaceful, and it would never be boring, but those were things he had realized- during three months of alternate ceiling-staring sessions and criminal trials- would not have been of much interest to him, anyway. As much peace as one could get while tethered to Draco Malfoy- that would be quite enough for Harry.


	30. Unexpected

            As the Hogwarts express pulled into King’s Cross Station, carrying, for the last time, Draco Malfoy (and Harry Potter), Draco thought about his journeys home from previous years at Hogwarts. That first year, in which few things had gone as planned; fourth year, even fewer. And seventh, the year he’d feared would be his last. Thank Merlin not.

            This one was the best.

            It wasn’t because he knew what he was doing. Far from it, Draco had no idea what he was doing. He’d have to learn how to run a business and attract customers and interact patiently with adults who shouldn’t need his patience and children who Draco thought deserved it enough for him to be a decent teacher. Draco was running on confidence and hope, a combination he hadn’t felt in years, and he loved it. He loved that and Harry. Draco loved his own makeshift plans and Harry’s lack of them and the fact that he knew there’d be someone beside him, propping him up when he needed it and just keeping hold of his hand all the other times. In case he needed it. Or just wanted it, a thing Draco had forgotten how to do beyond ‘not prison’ and ‘get through school’ and ‘survive’ until Harry helped remind him how.

            “You know, I love you,” Draco said, almost offhand. They were standing in the station getting ready to leave; they couldn’t find Draco’s mother, or anyone, really, and Harry had wanted to see a few people before they went through the barrier.

            “I love you, too,” Harry replied, like he was daring Draco to try again. Reminding Draco he did love him and challenging him to an unwinnable declaration contest and making Draco love him more for how much he meant it.

            “Alright,” Draco said, and smiled and bit his lip and went back to searching for people, this time trying to keep from beaming.

 

            “I am not going to mess up my first birthday present to Harry because I got shoddy advice from you!”

            Ron threw one hand over his heart and raised the other, arranging his face into a grave expression. “I solemnly swear that I will give you decent advice.”

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Right. Because you wouldn’t want to give him the best gift y- hang on, isn’t that the map thing?”

            “It’s the _opposite_ of the map thing. I’d ask how you knew that if I wasn’t certain Harry’s no-secrets policy applied to you more than anyone else-”

            “Yes, you know him well, we get it, now what do I get him?”

            Ron kept him in a good thirty seconds of suspense before replying, “Get him something as sweet as he is to you.”

            “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”

            “Well, yes,” Ron said defensively, “but before third year-”

            “Are you going to tell me the floorboards thing?”

            Ron gaped.

            “What? I thought you knew Harry’s no-secrets policy applied to me more than anyone else?”

            “It does, I just-” Ron shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder how the two of you have managed to cram your entire life stories- with intimate detail, mind- into a few months of seeing each other half the day.”

            Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you forgotten the years of mutual stalking?”

            “I’d call it one-sided, Harry was pretty obsessed. So, no, I have not forgotten. And I see your point. Right. So. Birthday gifts. You know about the summer of cake, so get him a cake so fantastic no other cakes will compare.”

            “How do I do that?”

            Ron frowned. “I distinctly remember you requesting my help for ideas, not execution.”

            “Yes, but- here. You grew up never having to worry about where you’d buy a cake, because someone always made you one, right?”

            “Right,” Ron said, looking a bit uncomfortable.

            “Yes. So, in all those years of having other people make you cake, did you ever seize the chance to figure out how to make one of those cakes yourself? Or figure out where you’d buy one?”

            “Oh,” Ron said, this time with a little frown.

            “Exactly.”

            “Just ask for samples, then.”

            Draco offered his best appalled expression. “Samples?”

            “Yeah.” Ron shrugged. “S’the only way to make sure their cake’s good enough. And if the place is wizarding, you can say it’s for Harry. If not, just say it’s for your boyfriend and they’ll care more either way.”

            “Can I ask how you know about samples?”

            “Oh.” Ron’s ears turned red. “Well, while we were with Hermione’s parents over Christmas someone got the fantastic idea to pretend we were getting married so we could taste a bunch of different cakes…”

            “Is ‘someone’ you?”

            At this, Ron grinned. “No. Hermione, actually.”

            “Ah.” Draco stood. “Well, let’s go, then.”

            Ron stared up at him. “I thought you thought samples were… plebian, or something?”

            Draco blinked. “I thought it’d be best to go somewhere with a smashing reputation and hundreds of years’ experience, but you’ve reminded me I don’t know any of those places, so your idea makes the most sense.”

            After a second of confused silence, Ron stood, too. “Do you know any places?”

            “I’m not the one who suggested it,” Draco said with absolutely no hint of challenge at all.

            “We were trying cakes in Australia. I don’t actually know of any bakeries here.”

            “Hm.” Draco frowned. “Guess we’ll just have to stop at every one, then.”

            “I’ve got training-” Ron began, exasperated, but let himself be dragged out the door of the coffee shop and into the street. A few seconds later he said, “Wait ‘til Harry hears about this.”

            “It’s not that surprising,” Draco said, feeling himself get a bit red anyway. “You know something about cake shopping, and Harry, so the logical thing to do-”

            “Is be friends with a Gryffindor?”

            “We’re graduated. But fine.”

            “Fine what?”

            “Fine we’re friends,” Draco said. Before Ron could launch into some dramatic speech about house unity, Draco added, “Where’s the nearest cake shop?”

            To Draco’s surprise, Ron swung an arm around his shoulder and started leading him to the left. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

            “It’s crooked.”

            “You’re imagining things,” Harry insisted. “It looks perfectly aligned from here.”

            “It’s not… get the level.”

            “What?”

            “The level, or whatever it’s called, that muggle thing with the bubble in it that- the level. You know.”

            “I don’t know why you don’t just use a spell,” Harry said, but he reached for the level anyway.

            “I like this way better,” Draco insisted. He ended up having to use a levitation spell to get the damned thing up there without the ladder, but a level was still better than the leveling spell. “I never trust it the other way.”

            “See?” Harry said when the bubble had settled. “It’s almost exactly-”

            “Almost isn’t good enough. Can you hold this?”

            “’Course I can,” Harry said, rolling his eyes as he took Draco’s wand. It would never stop amazing Draco how easily Harry could take a spell over like that, but a lot of things about Harry would never stop amazing him.

            After Harry had handed Draco his own wand, Draco used it to pull the left side of the sign the slightest bit lower. “There.”

            “It looked fine before.”

            Draco ignored this as he accepted his wand back and lowered the level to rest against the building in case they needed it again. “My standards are a bit higher than ‘fine.’ This is my livelihood, you know.”

            “Livelihood my arse,” Harry said, definitely rolling his eyes again even if Draco didn’t see it. Draco elbowed Harry, throwing him off balance, but Harry laughingly righted himself. “Hey, Draco.”

            “Hmm?” Done. It was done. Draco couldn’t stop staring at the damned sign.

            “You’ve got a flying school.” Harry’s words spun around Draco’s mind for a second.

            “I do, don’t I,” Draco finally said, sparing a glance at Harry.

            Harry nodded vigorously.

            “It is wonderful, I suppose.”

            Harry wrapped his arms around Draco from behind, leaning up to put his head on Draco’s shoulder. “You know what’s more wonderful?”

            “You?”

            “My new job.”

            Draco spun around so fast he nearly knocked Harry over. “What?”

            “It’s muggle! So nowhere near here, but it’s-”

            Draco cut him off with a kiss. “Sorry.”

            Harry was beaming. “Don’t be.”

            “Congratulations.”

            “Mine’s just a job, though. You have a school.”

            Draco gave in and turned back around. “I really do, don’t I?”

            “Mmhmm. You’ve got a storefront on Diagon and rental brooms and free brooms for classes and-” Harry yawned.

            “Merlin fucking hell.” Draco craned his neck to look at Harry. “What time is it?”

            “Er, dunno, um…”

            “Merlin’s- fuck!” According to Draco’s charm, it was three in the morning.

            “It’s not that late.”

            “You’ve got work tomorrow! I can’t believe I- let’s get you to bed.”

            Draco was about a second from side-alonging him when Harry said, “Wait! Did you lock up?”

            Draco’s memory seized up for a terrifying moment (how was he going to run a flying school if he couldn’t remember to lock the building?). Then, “Wards. Put them up a few hours ago. They automatically lock the doors unless it’s me or you, and they- you’re falling asleep!”

            “I am not falling-” Harry yawned before he could finish.

            “Fucking… you’re ridiculous, Potter,” Draco decided, and side-alonged him to their completely dark bedroom.

            “Ow!”

            “Sorry! You didn’t-”

            “No,” Harry said quickly, mitigating Draco’s terror. “I hit my knee on the bedframe.”

            “Do you need a-”

            “No, it’s fine, just- lights, could you please…”

            The lights flickered on at the request.

            “Thank you.”

            “Go to bed.”

            “We’ve been home not five- what are you doing?”

            “Helping you take off your shoes so you don’t run into the bedframe again.”

            Harry heaved a sigh that turned into a yawn midway through.

            “Exactly.”

            “I didn’t say anything.”

            “Sleep,” Draco insisted again.

            “Not without you here.”

            Draco slipped out of his shoes, unbuttoned his trousers, and flopped on top of the covers.

            “You’re doing it wrong.”

            With a sigh that was much more dramatic than Harry’s because it only turned into a yawn at the very end, Draco got under the blankets and wriggled closer to Harry. “You’re always freezing.”

            “S’what we got blankets for.”

            Draco hummed his agreement.

            “You know, you opened a school.”

            “It doesn’t open ‘til Wednesday.”

            “Yeah, but it’s… you did the sign.”

            “We did the sign.”

            “M’not taking credit for this.”

            “Go to sleep, Potter.”

            “I will if you will.”

            Draco did.

 

            As he stood there, Draco knew that years later, when this had become a bright unforgettable memory and he still felt just as right to be with Harry as he did in that moment, this would not be the day he looked back upon as the one that had changed his life. That would be the Room, or the tower, or even the day when Harry came up next to him in a robe shop before either of them had the slightest idea what they were about to face.

            No. If Draco looked back, he would see this day as one of many changes. Beautiful changes, because of Harry as much as himself. Unexpected and ridiculous and wonderful, like Harry, or love, or anything good that happened. And he’d be grateful for all of it. All the things past and all the ones to come.

            “Are you ready?” Harry was smiling up at him, nervous but excited, too, on the edge of something he’d been looking forward to for a very long time.

            Draco had been looking forward to it from that moment in the Ravenclaw common room. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

            Harry’s smile turned to a beam, and Draco smiled, and they knew it would always be true. Until the next hour or the next day or the next minute, because they would never stop surprising each other.

 

            “That was the time I was the most glad you were in my bed.”

            Draco didn’t say ‘you were there because of me.’ They were long past that, long long past it; he wouldn’t think of saying it. “I know the time I felt best that you were in my bed.”

            There was a smile and a held breath in Harry’s voice. “What time was that?”

            “Last year. You remember. It was the worst nightmare I ever had. It was the worst I’d ever had, but I woke up. I was shaking and crying and I thought, I don’t have to be alone for this. I don’t have to be alone.”

            Harry clung closer. “Never again, okay?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous.”

            “You know I mean it.”

            Draco nearly couldn’t breathe. “Harry.”

            “Never again. I promise.”

            “What if you have a business trip?”

            “I’ll take you.”

            “What if I can’t go?”

            “Then I won’t go either.”

            “You can’t do that. You’ve just moved from a muggle place. You can’t do that. You’ve got portkeys and long-distance apparition. You can still get to me sooner than anyone else.”

            “If they don’t let you come I’ll remind them I’m Harry Potter. They wouldn’t want to fire me.”

            “What if they do?”

            Harry smiled against his chest, and Draco felt the tension drain out of them. “We’re rich. I’ll start a charity myself.”

            “What if you’re up with the kids?”

            “We don’t have any yet.”

            “You said you’d stay up with them.”

            “I will. But if they can’t sleep they’ll sleep in here, and then we’ll still be together.” Harry’s words got serious again. “I want them to know they don’t have to be alone if they have nightmares. I was always alone.”

            “You’re right,” Draco said, remembering once, a time he’d woken up crying from a dream and his mother promised to keep him safe. “I don’t want you to be alone for them, either.”

            Harry snuggled into him. He sounded tired. “I’m not. Ever since I met you.”

            “We met when we were eleven.”

            A yawn. “Ever since the rooms, then. When we shared them. You’d leave the door open.”

            Draco remembered. “I wanted you to know you didn’t have to be alone.”

            “I know,” Harry said, and Draco felt tears and a smile against his chest. Heard them in Harry’s voice. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love you all, I do it for you. Also to feel satisfied with all my headcanons and to just get to hang out with my adopted sons, but still THANK YOU for reading and commenting and keeping me going even when the lulls got ridiculously long. Read my other stories if you like, or follow me on tumblr if you like the same stuff I do, wordsphoneix.tumblr.com


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